


The Potioneer of Oxfordshire

by Art3misiA



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Draco is ridiculously spoilt and childish, F/M, Inspired by The Merchant of Venice, Lighthearted and Funny, Shakespeare Dramione fest, borderline crack fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Art3misiA/pseuds/Art3misiA
Summary: Hermione Granger is an accomplished potioneer, working on a project that could greatly benefit the wizarding community.Draco Malfoy is spoiled and rich. He's in no hurry to get married, but his meddling mother Narcissa has other ideas.Tom Riddle is a moneylender with his fingers in a great number of pies.When these men separately encounter Hermione Granger, things start getting interesting.But who is the cat, and who is the mouse?
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 65
Collections: Much Ado about Dramione: A Shakespearean fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to my entry for the Much Ado About Dramione Fest! 
> 
> This story is closely based on The Merchant of Venice, with a modern twist.
> 
> Thanks to PotionChemist for her beta skills!

In a darkened, empty field, two shadowy figures suddenly appeared in the air, and tumbled ungracefully to the grass. They got up unsteadily, groaning. One gagged and bent double, vomiting at their feet.

“I _told_ you not to eat so close to our activation time,” the other admonished the first. “Do you _ever_ listen? The chances of becoming Portkey-sick increase with distance travelled, as you well know, and a full stomach does not help matters.”

“Can you save the lecture?” the first grumbled, between bouts of retching. “I was hungry.”

The second figure waited patiently for their companion to recover. After a few minutes, the vomiting figure stood upright.

“Okay. Let’s go and find our inn.”

The two people walked out of the field, barely noticeable in the blackness all around them. They reached a small lane and began to follow it. As they neared a crossroads, the moon came out from behind a cloud, giving the travellers light to see by. One had long, shiny red hair that tumbled down her back, while the other had a mane of wild brown curls.

“Have you stayed at this inn before?” the redhead asked her friend.

“No,” the curly-haired woman replied. “But I’ve heard the beds are comfortable, the food is acceptable, and the landlord doesn’t charge extortionate prices. It’ll do for now.”

“I just hope there’s enough room to continue your research,” the redhead said thoughtfully. “You’re so close to perfecting the potion.”

The women continued on in companionable silence, headed to Burford, a small medieval town in West Oxfordshire.

Halting just past the crossroads, the curly-haired woman turned to her companion. “Has your stomach settled enough to Apparate the rest of the way?”

“Yeah,” the redhead answered. “I’m fine now.”

The curly-haired woman held out an arm, and her friend took it firmly. With a _pop,_ the women vanished.

  
  


They arrived in the centre of Burford, which was quiet due to the late hour, and headed towards the small inn at the far end of the main street. They arrived and pushed the door open, making their way over to the counter. The establishment was about half full, witches and wizards drinking and talking at the small tables.

“What can I get you, m’dears?” asked the elderly woman tending bar. 

“We have a reservation, a double room,” the curly-haired witch explained. “Granger and Weasley.”

The woman pulled a small ledger from a shelf and consulted it briefly. “Ahh yes, here you are. Granger and Weasley, double room, open stay, breakfast and dinner included in the daily rate.” She turned to a small cupboard behind her and opened it, revealing a row of keys hanging on hooks. She selected one, closed the door, and turned to the waiting women with a smile. “If you’ll just follow me, m’dears, I’ll show you to your room.”

They followed the innkeeper up a narrow flight of stairs, which ended at a small hallway that branched off in two directions. She turned right and stopped before the last room at the very end of the hall, and unlocked the door.

“Come on through, m’dears,” she invited. “My name’s Wilma Perkins. Breakfast is served from seven til eight-thirty, and dinner from five-thirty until seven. House rules are only one visitor at a time per room, no additional guests, no loud noise between ten in the evening and seven in the morning. Respect other guests and their belongings, food downstairs only, limit baths to half an hour per person so everyone can use the facilities. Fresh towels every second day, laundry services twice a week.”

Wilma showed her guests where to find the women’s bathrooms and how to arrange for laundry collection, then left them alone, imploring that they come and see her if they needed anything. They thanked her, and she was gone.

“The room looks alright,” the redhead observed, moving over to sit on one of the beds. She gave an experimental bounce. “And there’s enough room in the corner to brew if you move that chest of drawers out of the way.”

“I think it will be perfect, Gin,” Hermione replied with a smile.  
  


* * *

  
Over the next few days, Hermione and Ginny spent their time wandering the small town and exploring its shops. They had been in Burford for nearly a week when Ginny noticed a poster in the window of a bookstore.

“Hey, look!” she exclaimed. “There’s a Ministry ball happening for Easter! We should go!”

“I don’t know, Gin,” Hermione sighed, coming to read the information. “You know I don’t like functions.”

“Come on, Hermione. Please?” Ginny begged. ”Who knows, you might just meet a nice man!”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That’s hardly a priority right now. I’ve got other things to think about at the moment.”

“You’ve been working too hard!” the other girl argued. “You need to let your hair down.”

“Is that wise?” Hermione snorted, gesturing her curls, tightly restrained in a bun. “If I do that, it’s likely to smother someone.” 

Ginny laughed. “You know what I mean. Go on — say yes!” She looked at Hermione pleadingly.

Hermione groaned. “You’re going to bug me until I give in, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” Ginny grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Okay,” she sighed in defeat. “We’ll go to the thrice-cursed ball.”

“Yay!” Ginny pulled Hermione into a crushing hug, causing her to laugh.

Abruptly Ginny pulled back, a look of delight on her face. “This means we’ll need to go shopping for new dresses! Let’s go do it now!”

Hermione was dragged unceremoniously up the street, already regretting having agreed to attend.  
  


* * *

  
Draco Malfoy lounged in an overstuffed armchair in the drawing room of his family’s stately home, enjoying a Firewhisky and reading the paper. Blaise, his best friend, sat in a chair beside him, absorbed a thick book.

“Draco,” a voice called.

Draco sighed quietly, lowering the paper so he could see over the top. “In here, Mother,” he called.

Narcissa Malfoy glided into the room. “Oh, there you are, Dragon,” she smiled. “Have I told you about the ball the Ministry is hosting for Easter?” 

“Yes, Mother, you have mentioned it. Several times, in fact,” Draco replied tiredly.

“There’s no need to snap, darling,” Narcissa chided him. “You will be joining me, won’t you?”

Draco couldn’t think of anything he would enjoy less than joining his mother at another bloody ball, but he knew better than to say it out loud. He would be expected to attend, if only so she could scope out potential brides for him amongst the guests.

“Of course, Mother.” He forced himself to smile. 

“Wonderful!” Beaming, she turned to Blaise and added, “And what about you, Blaise? Will you be joining us?”

“Well, I’m not sure,” Blaise said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “I’m not terribly fond of balls, unlike Draco.”

“Oh, but you must!” Narcissa urged. “There will be lots of eligible witches in attendance!”

“Perhaps,” Blaise answered noncommittally. “I’ll certainly consider it, but I wouldn’t want to cramp Draco’s style or force him to compete with me.”

Narcissa shook her head in exasperation at his teasing. “Blaise, you’re a rouge,” she said affectionately. Turning to Draco, she continued, “I have an appointment. I shall be back at dinnertime.” She exited the room, leaving the two men alone.

Once she was out of earshot, Draco turned to Blaise with a frown. “What the hell, Blaise?” he said crossly. “You _know_ how much I hate balls! And as for me having to compete with you for witches, you’re bloody dreaming. I’m richer and better looking, and—” He stopped short. Blaise was grinning wickedly at him.

“You’re an arse,” Draco huffed, turning back to his paper.

“I have to entertain myself somehow,” Blaise replied. “And winding you up is one of my favourite ways of doing that.” 

Draco didn’t respond. He simply snapped his paper several times in displeasure and hid himself behind it.  
  


* * *

  
Hermione and Ginny were making their way back to the inn, loaded down with bags. They had travelled to London to visit Diagon Alley, where all the best wizarding shops were located, and perused the gowns available at Madam Malkin’s.

“I can’t wait!” Ginny babbled excitedly. “Aren’t you excited, Hermione?”

“Beside myself,” she muttered.

They arrived back at their room and hung their dresses up, then went back downstairs for dinner.

They were halfway through their meal when a tall, dark-haired and handsome man strode through the door of the inn. He looked around with an assured, slightly arrogant expression and made his way over to the bar, signalling for Wilma to attend him.

“It’s the third Thursday of the month, Mrs Perkins. You know what that means.”

Hermione and Ginny watched the man closely. A quick glance around the room indicated that the other patrons were also watching, but more subtly.

Wilma looked at the man apprehensively. “Yes, Mr Riddle. Right away. I’ll just fetch it now.”

She ducked under the counter, emerging soon after with a small bag which she handed to the man before her.

He took it in his palm, lifting it up and down as if weighing it.

“It feels a little light, Mrs Perkins,” he observed.

“I’m sorry, Mr Riddle. Business has been slow this month. I’ll have the full amount for you next time,” the older witch promised nervously.

“This just won’t do,” Riddle replied with a tone of feigned regret, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to add interest to your account for the missing amount from this month. I’ll expect an extra fifteen Galleons when I return.”

“Yes, Mr Riddle,” Wilma said quietly, her head lowered.

When the man had gone, Hermione and Ginny looked at one another. 

“What was that about?” Ginny wondered.

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied. “But it didn’t look good.”  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day, the two women decided to investigate the mysterious Mr Riddle. They asked questions of residents and business owners alike, but no one would tell them anything — a roadblock they found to be most frustrating.

Finally, they returned to the inn, deciding Wilma would be the easiest person to get information from. She had been very kind and accommodating and they were sure she would give them information. To their surprise, however, she was no more forthcoming than the others.

“Just keep away from Mr Riddle and don’t go asking questions!” she told them fiercely. “Don’t go causing no trouble, you hear? I can’t have you attracting any attention to my place, it’s hard enough to bring in customers as it is. You keep asking about, and I’ll have to ask you to find alternative accommodations. Y’understand me, girls?”

“Yes, Madam,” Hermione and Ginny replied. 

They were perplexed. Whoever this Mr Riddle was, he couldn’t be a good person to elicit such a reaction in the otherwise jolly witch. They went up to their room, where Hermione checked her potion and made notes on its progress.

“It’s still not quite right,” she sighed. “I’ll need to adjust the aconite slightly next time. Hopefully that will help.”

Hermione was working on a new potion for the Ministry, as yet unpatented and untested, to address the growing problem of low magical births in Wizarding England. Witches were having trouble conceiving and carrying to term, and of those who were able to have a live birth, about three percent of those were turning out to be squibs. Five years ago, only one point five percent of live births produced a squib, and ten years previously, it had been zero point seven percent.

The low fertility and birth rates had been a problem for some time, but the rise in squibs was what had the wizarding community worried. There had been talk about using old magic and a marriage law to try and pair couples together on the basis of optimal fertility and ability to produce magical children, but thankfully it had not reached this point.

Hermione, who was Muggleborn, knew all about Muggle methods for improving conception rates in couples struggling to have children and had based her idea for a new fertility potion off some of those concepts. After some difficulty, she had managed to convince the Ministry of Magic to endorse and help fund her research.

Unfortunately, while she was confident in the brewing method and ingredients, finding the exact amounts of each component to use had proved to be a challenge. She had to get the balance just right before she could share her results with the Ministry and start the testing phase.

There was a sudden knock at the door and the two witches looked at each other apprehensively. They both drew their wands and crept forward.

“Who is it?” Hemione called out authoritatively.

“A friend,” came a strange voice they didn’t recognise. “A friend bearing information.”

Hermione opened the door a crack, her wand at the ready. A man stood before her, hooded and cloaked. He had a slight frame, narrow face and bright blue eyes.

“What kind of information?” she questioned.

“Answers,” he replied mysteriously, in a low whisper. “Come to the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade Village in half an hour.” He turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Hermione closed the door again and turned to Ginny. “What do you think?”

“I think he must know something useful,” Ginny answered. “If he wants us to go all the way to the Hog, he’s clearly worried about telling us here. Maybe it’s about that Riddle bloke?”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too.” Hermione nodded. “Still, we don’t know who that man is. He didn’t even tell us his name. It could be some sort of trap.”

“Then we’ll scope him out,” Ginny decided. “We’ll take the invisibility cloak and go there now. We’ll wait and watch. If anything looks dodgy, we’ll leave.”

“Okay,” Hermione agreed. She went to the wardrobe and collected her beaded bag, which she carried everywhere she went. The two women headed out into the night, walking a little way down the street before apparating to the wizarding village of Hogsmeade.

Once they arrived, Hermione and Ginny hurried towards the Hog’s Head and concealed themselves in a dark corner of the street opposite. Hermione reached into her bag, pulling out a cloak made of shimmery material, and threw it over herself and her friend. Instantly, they both disappeared from sight.

Under the cloak, Hermione checked her watch. “He should arrive in the next ten minutes,” she whispered. They waited patiently, watching both sides of the street. Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes, they spotted him scurrying towards the pub.

He was a small scruffy man, unkempt with rough stubble on his cheeks, and under his cloak he wore clothing that seemed too large for his sight frame. He looked furtively around as he approached the door.

“Go!” Hermione urged in a whisper, and still under the cloak, the two women followed him as he pushed the door open and entered, slipping in behind him and allowing the door to swing shut after them.

The man went straight to a table and sat down, lifting a hand in the direction of the bar to summon a server. Hermione and Ginny maneuvered themselves so they were up against a wall nearby, close enough to listen as well as watch. 

A barkeep in a grubby apron finished serving a customer and ambled over to the man, nodding at him. “Evening, Mundungus. What’ll it be? The usual?”

“Yeah. Ta, Clyde,” the man — Mundungus — answered.

Hermione and Ginny watched for several more minutes. Mundungus received his drink and sipped at it. He looked at his watch and muttered to himself. “Bloody women! Always late!”

“He’s got some nerve!” Ginny whispered. “ _He_ was late!”

“I don’t think he’s setting us up,” Hermione decided. “Look, someone’s about to leave. Now’s our chance to slip out behind them and come back in as if we just got here.”

They moved efficiently through the tables, their movements practiced and sure. They snuck out the door as the departing patron exited, none around them the wiser, and moved back to their shadowy spot where Hermione finally removed the cloak.

“Right, let’s head back in,” she said, stuffing the cloak back in her bag. They walked back across the road and Ginny pushed the door open. They made a show of looking around, pretending to be hesitant and unsure. Mundungus caught Hermione’s eye and raised his hand once again, gesturing them over.

“I’ll get drinks,” Ginny stated. 

Hermione moved across the room and stood before the small, scruffy man. “You’re the man who is supposed to be a ‘friend’, are you?” she asked.

“Yep,” he said. “A friend with valuable information.”

“And just what will this information cost us, _friend_ ?” Hermione pressed. She was well accustomed to the mantra _good information is never free_.

“Smart girl, you are,” Mundungus grinned. “Oh look, here’s your mate. You could start by buying me one.” He indicated the drinks in Ginny’s hands.

“Not shy, are you?” Ginny grumbled as she placed the glasses on the table and turned to go back to the bar.

“No need to do that, luv,” he winked at her. Turning to face the bar, he shouted, “Oi! Clyde! One more round, if you please!” Hermione and Ginny took seats across from Mundungus and waited expectantly while he received his new drink with a grunt and sipped at it.

“Well?” Ginny prompted. “Who are you, and what’s this information you have for us?”

“The name’s Fletcher. Mundungus Fletcher.” He glanced at Ginny. “You must be a Weasley, with that red hair.”

Ginny nodded slowly.

Turning now to Hermione, he asked, “And who might you be?” 

“Hermione Granger,” she replied, lifting her chin. “Now tell us what you know.”

“You understand, what I know is sensitive. Telling you puts me at _great_ personal risk,” he hedged.

“How much?” Hermione snapped.

“Five Galleons,” Mundungus replied firmly.

“You’re taking the piss!” Ginny snorted. “We already figured out it must be about this Riddle everyone’s so cagey about. What could you possibly know that’s worth that much?”

“Didn’t Wilma tell you to stay away from him?” Mundungus countered.

“She did,” Hermione agreed reluctantly.

“She did so with good reason,” Mundungus explained, shrugging apologetically. “He’s a dangerous man. That’s why I’m askin’ for surety. It’s gotta be worth my while, you see.” 

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look, communicating wordlessly.

“Very well,” Hermione answered after a moment. “But you get the money _after_ you give us the intel.”

“That’s not fair!” Mundungus protested. “If I agree to that, what’s to stop you running out on me after I tell you?”

“If we pay you first, what’s to stop _you_ running out on _us_ before telling us anything?” Ginny countered immediately.

They appeared to have reached a stalemate, neither party willing to acquiesce to the other.

“Half now, the other half later — _if_ we determine your intel is worth your asking price,” Hermione offered. “Can’t be fairer than that, can I?”

Mundungus considered for a moment, a sour look on his face.. “Fine. Half now, half after.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Hermione withdrew her purse and took out two Galleons and nine Sickles, counting them into Mundungus’ waiting palm. The wizard counted them himself before making the coins disappear.

He took a sip of his drink before beginning to speak. 

“Tom Riddle controls most of Burford. He started off as a moneylender — still is — but he’s a tricky one. Offers attractive terms on the surface, comes across as a real top bloke, but once he’s got your signature on a contract, he turns into a hard man. Plenty of folks ended up not being able to repay their debts on time, even when they thought they could, and he’d take their homes, businesses, any asset they had, as a penalty.”

“But surely he couldn’t get away with it!” Ginny stated. “What about the Wizengamot? They wouldn’t allow him to destroy people’s lives like that.”

“Riddle has connections in the Wizengamot,” Mundungus elaborated. “‘Tween you and me, I reckon he’s got one or two of them over a barrel, too. And anyway, even if he didn’t, he could still claim it was all completely above board because he adds it to the fine print of the contracts.”

“If he has such a bad reputation, why do people go to him?” Hermione inquired. “At this point, they must consider it too much of a risk?”

“Well, you see, ‘lot of folks in this town seem to run into money trouble,” Mundungus answered quietly. “It’s strange, really. And then they have few other options but to go to Riddle for a loan.”

“What about Gringotts?” Ginny challenged. “Could they not request a loan there?”

“Well, that’s the problem. Hard to get a loan from Gringotts when you’re living in a small town and struggling. Usually goes before the Financial Board, and more often than not, they decline the application.”

Hermione and Ginny exchanged another look, frowning. 

“And why does he come into Wilma’s inn demanding money?” Ginny asked. “Did she get a loan, too?”

“No, she’s been one of the few that’s never needed a loan because she always brought in enough to keep a bit of gold in her pocket.” Mundungus glanced furtively around before continuing. “Business owners like Wilma, who enjoy modest success, pay Riddle a fee in return for what he calls ‘security and assurance services’.”

“And why would they need these services?” Hermione asked, although she thought she already knew the answer.

“To make sure they don’t get no trouble in their place,” Mundungus replied, confirming Hermione’s suspicions. “He has his boys patrol the surrounding streets and occasionally enter the premises. As a _deterrent_ to troublemakers, he says.”

“So he runs dodgy loans and an extortion scheme,” Ginny summarised.

“He may be influencing Ministry and other officials, and is potentially sabotaging peoples’ financial stability in order to force them into entering a contract with him, which in turn puts them at significant risk of losing their assets to him,” Hermione added. 

“This is good intel,” Ginny concluded. “We can use this.”

“Now, look,” Mundungus interjected, eyeing the two women with unease. “You ain’t gonna expose me, are ya? No one can know you got any of this from me.”

“Don’t worry, no one will find out,” Hermione reassured him. “Thank you, your information has been very useful.” She reached back into her purse and counted out the remaining coins, adding an extra nine sickles.

“Just— be careful,” he cautioned them, taking the money with a nod of thanks. “Riddle’s a dangerous man. The people working for him are— well, let’s just say the few people who have openly crossed him have either come a cropper or disappeared altogether, never to be seen again. And another thing — rumours is he’s a skilled Legilimens. I don’t know if that part’s true, but if it is, it makes him even more of a threat.”

Hermione and Ginny’s eyes met. For the first time. Hermione felt a twinge of disquiet, and she could tell Ginny felt the same.

“Don’t worry, Mundungus,” she reassured him, giving him a small smile. “We’re both very discreet.”

They got up, leaving him alone, and stopped by the bar on their way out to pay their tab. Hermione laid an extra Galleon on the scratched wood surface, her finger keeping it in place, and asked Clyde, “Did Mundungus drink alone tonight?”

Clyde eyed the golden coin keenly, then nodded his head, glancing quickly at her before looking away.

“Yep, he kept to himself all night,” Clyde agreed. “Didn’t sit with or talk to nobody the whole time he was here.”

Hermione slid the coin the rest of the way across the bar and removed her finger. Clyde made it vanish with impressive speed.

She and Ginny stepped out into the dark street. No one appeared to be about. Still, it didn’t hurt to take precautions.

“Three jumps or four?” Hermione asked in a low whisper as they walked.

“Three will do, I think,” Ginny murmured back, taking her friend’s arm.

There was a sharp _crack_ as the women Disapparated.  
  


* * *

Once back in their room, Hermione pulled what appeared to be a blank piece of parchment from her robes, picked up a self-inking quill from her nightstand, and scribbled a note across it.

_The Knave of hearts is stealing tarts, the court is at a loss_

_All around are hungry now, he strings them to the cross._

_The kingdom’s dark, the subjects weep, they know not what to do_

_The tarts are locked up in his vault, a true Knave through and through._

The words stood in sharp relief for only a few moments before bleeding into the paper and disappearing. Hermione rolled the parchment up briskly and stowed it away within her robes once again. “Right, let’s go over what we know so far,” she said determinedly, turning to Ginny.

“His name is Tom Riddle, and he has a heavy influence over the village,” Ginny began, sitting on her bed.

“A lot of people are indebted to him in some way or another, and often not willingly,” Hermione continued, pacing the floor. “He’s forcing business owners who don’t borrow from him to pay protection money.”

“He may — likely _does_ — have friends in high places. Which means between the loans, the extortion, and the contacts, he’s likely very wealthy.” Ginny stated.

“There are rumours that people who have challenged him in the past have been injured or killed, or disappeared altogether, and he may or may not be a Legilimens,” Hermione added. She stopped pacing and sat on her own bed, facing Ginny. Her expression was pinched and thoughtful.

“We need to be extra careful here, Hermione. He’s cunning and powerful. This is unlike any case we’ve taken on so far. If he gets wind of it—”

“I know,” Hermione agreed, looking apprehensive. “We need to try and find out how deep his contacts at the Ministry run.”

“The Bishop would never betray us, though,” Ginny frowned.

“I know he wouldn’t, Gin. And neither would the Knight or the King. But we have to be even more careful than ever to make sure no one else knows why we’re really here, otherwise it could compromise the entire operation.” Hermione suddenly winced and cursed quietly. “A reply,” she explained in response to Ginny’s expectant expression.

She withdrew the parchment once again and moved to sit beside Ginny, unrolling it.

_The Knave of hearts he loves those tarts, The Queen and Rook do know_

_A tempting treat they offer him, the goal to overthrow_

_The Knave’s one weakness, used against, will soon cut short his reign,_

_So that the court and subjects both can share tarts once again._

Moments after they had read the missive, the words crumbled into dust and vanished, leaving no trace of any message on the parchment. Hermione exchanged a look with Ginny.

“A more direct approach than I expected,” she mused. “But it might just work.”

“We just need something he wants,” Ginny added.

“Money? Fame?” snorted Hermione.

“Well, yes. But something that will lure him in, get him interested.” Ginny paused. “Do you think he’ll be at the ball tomorrow night?” 

“Quite possibly,” Hermione replied. “But we’ll just have to wait and see, and be on the lookout for an opportunity in the meantime.”  
  


* * *

  
Draco stood on the platform in the tailor’s shop, being fitted for a new suit. The Master Tailor himself was attending him, moving fussily about, tweaking here and tugging there, muttering as he worked. Draco did his best to suppress the long-suffering sigh he wanted to release. He had been measured only two days before, but on his mother’s orders, the shop had made this commission their top priority.

Now, he stood before the mirror wearing a jacket and trousers in a shade of charcoal that complimented his grey eyes. A jade silk waistcoat over a white oxford and black tie completed his ensemble. Draco had to admit, he looked pretty damn good. The jacket was nipped slightly at the waist, showcasing his slim frame, and padded slightly in the shoulders to accentuate his toned upper torso.

A delighted gasp startled both Draco and the tailor, causing them to jump slightly at the sudden interruption, the tailor tumbling from the small platform in shock. “Oh, Dragon! You look positively dashing!” Narcissa sighed happily as she swept regally into the fitting room.

“Mother!” Draco exclaimed indignantly. “I could have been naked!” He paid no mind to the tailor as he attempted to pick himself up from the floor, instead turning to regard her with a frown.

“Nonsense, darling,” his mother replied dismissively, waving a hand. “I’m your mother, I’ve seen it all before.”

“Not since I was a boy!” Draaco retorted, his face flushing.

“You’ll _always_ be my boy.” Narcissa smiled, patting her son affectionately on the cheek. She turned to the tailor, who was scrabbling around on his knees, looking for stray pins. “Mr Robards — whatever are you doing on the floor?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He fell off the platform in fright when you burst in so suddenly. It’s a wonder he didn’t crack his head open,” Draco snapped irritably.

“You always did have a flair for the dramatic,” she replied absently as she waited for Robards to stand and address her.

“The suit is ready and exactly as specified, Madam Malfoy. I will send it to the Manor this afternoon,” he said obsequiously. 

“Excellent work, as always, Mr Robards,” Narcissa praised, and the tailor beamed. “Please send the bill to my account. Draco, take that off and _don’t_ wrinkle it, for Merlin’s sake. I’ll meet you outside.”

Without another word, she left, robes swirling about her feet, and Draco was left alone with the tailor. 

“Well, Mr Malfoy, I’ll leave you to undress,” he said, exiting. 

Draco thought he saw a small smirk playing about the man’s lips, and scowled. _Why_ did his mother have to be so… so… _motherly?_ Honestly! He was a grown man! He loved her dearly, but living with her really tested his patience at times. 

He got undressed, dropping the items carelessly over a chair in a fit of pique — he didn’t care if the suit got wrinkled, he didn’t even want to _go_ to this stupid bloody ball! — and put on his street clothes, and headed out of the shop.  
  


* * *

  
Tom Riddle was waiting impatiently in a meeting room at the Ministry. Simmonds was late, curse him. He would have to start charging the man for his valuable time if he didn’t show up soon. A few minutes later, a door opened and a harried young man let himself inside, locking and warding the door behind him.

“I’m very sorry, Mr Riddle,” he apologised, looking fearful. “I’m afraid I got caught up in a meeting with my department head and couldn’t get away. He was giving updates from the other departments, there was a big discussion about the funding for Granger’s potion, and—” 

“Cease your babbling, Simmonds,” Tom snapped impatiently, holding up his hand. “Just get on with it.” He flicked his fingers dismissively at the small file the Ministry employee held in his hands.

“Right. Yes. Sorry, sir.” Simmonds sat down, opened the file, and began to recite the updates on all the people Tom had on his books. He had a great many people in his pocket — and _lining_ his pocket, too — and he liked to keep thorough tabs on all of them. He was a man with a great many secrets, but it was unthinkable that any secrets should be kept from _him_. 

Tom had commissioned this bumbling fool Simmonds, who despite his young age was in an elevated position in the Treasury department, to monitor everyone in the Ministry who he was connected to. He had a gambling habit that rather outstripped his expendable income, and a wife and daughter who did not know of his vice, so of course Tom had come to his rescue. Part of the contract had naturally involved Simmonds becoming his informant.

“— and Finnegan and his wife are having a baby, so they’ll be down to one income in a few months, when she leaves her position at Flourish and Blotts,” Simmonds concluded. 

Tom nodded, feeling bored. He had hoped to be given something juicy — some scandal, someone trying to pull the wool over his eyes, anything — but everything had been terribly normal. He sighed.

“Um. Will there be anything else, sir?” Simmonds asked, clearly hoping the answer would be no and he could be dismissed. 

Tom thought for a moment. “What were you saying when you came in — something about funding for somebody’s potion?”

“Oh.” Simmonds’ suddenly frightened expression gladdened Tom’s heart. He _did_ so enjoy spoiling peoples’ days and placing them in awkward positions. “Well, sir, it’s nothing much. Just a bit of research, standard stuff.”

Tom frowned. The man wasn’t telling him everything. This simply wouldn’t do. Now, he was more determined than ever to find out everything about this potion. “What research, exactly?” he pressed.

“Just some medical research to improve reproductive health. It’s not progressing very fast,” he hedged.

“I see,” Tom replied evenly. Taking his wand from his robes, he pointed it at Simmonds. “ _Legilimens.”_ Shortly after he withdrew from his mind, having seen all he needed to know. And what he had seen was interesting. _Very interesting,_ indeed. It could make him a lot of money. Abruptly, he stood and exited the room, leaving his hapless informant slumped over on the table, shuddering.  
  


* * *

  
“Come _on,_ hurry up! We’ll be late!”

“I’m _trying!_ ” Hermione grumbled. “But my hair has other ideas.” She was attempting, and failing, to bring it to heel.

“Oh, for Godric’s sake! Let me do it,” Ginny tsked impatiently. 

She strode over to where Hermione was sitting before a small mirror, slapping her friend’s hands away from her unruly curls and snatching up the comb from the dressing table. She brushed the hair out, then picked up her wand and muttered a charm, waving it in a complicated pattern around Hermione’s head. Hermione watched in amazement as her normally untamable hair smoothed itself out, then rearranged itself in delicate knots around her head. To complete the look, Ginny conjured a small chain of bluebells that entwined themselves through the curls. 

“Gin, you’re a miracle worker,” Hermione sighed.

“I know.” Ginny smirked. “Now grab your bag and shawl and let’s _go,_ already!”

Moments later, they were exiting their room and hurrying down the stairs. They met Wilma along the way, and the older witch stopped them with a smile. 

“Off to the ball already? Let me take a look at the two of you… Merlin, you both look so beautiful!” The two younger women thanked her, smiling shyly. “You’re both sure to make a match tonight — that is, if you _want_ to make a match. Goodness knows the world is different now, balls aren’t just for matchmaking any more and people aren’t getting married so young—” abruptly she stopped and blushed, smoothing down her apron to hide her embarrassment.

“Forgive me, girls. I’m just an old woman remembering days past. Happier days. Seeing you two like this, in the prime of life, and glowing with happiness, it just—” she looked away, blinking rapidly, then back again, her smile sad and wistful. “Have a lovely time, girls. And please do remember to come in quietly when you return, so as not to disturb the other guests.”

“Yes, Madam.” Hermione smiled. “Thank you, and goodnight.”

As they headed down the lane, they shared another concerned glance. “She seems very anxious,” Ginny said worriedly. “I can’t imagine how much pressure she must be under.”

“All the more reason to stop him once and for all,” Hermione answered. “Now that we know it _is_ Riddle who’s causing all this trouble, we can start working on bringing his reign of control to an end.” The two women Apparated away.


	2. Chapter 2

The ball was in full swing, and Narcissa’s eyes roved slowly around the crowded room, taking in the mingling, happy guests. She was determined to find a suitable bride for Draco this evening, come what may, though Morgana knew pickings were slim. All the most intelligent, beautiful and powerful witches she knew of were already matched; the single ones who were close to her son’s age were average at best.

Of course, she knew she was a hard woman to please, but this was her only son, and she was determined to help him find a worthy wife, especially since he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to find one of his own accord. As much as she enjoyed driving him mad with her deliberate fussing and interfering, what she  _ really  _ wanted was to get him out of the house, wed, and working on giving her grandchildren to spoil.

Her husband, Lucius, had died when Draco was a teenager, the result of an unfortunate potions accident, and she had never remarried. Despite the best efforts of other wizards to woo her over the years, none of them could compare to him. Sometimes she felt lonely, but Narcissa had never been the type of witch to settle; nothing but the best wizard would do for her. She would rather remain single for the rest of her days, if it came to that.

So far, she had identified two possible candidates, although ‘possible’ was a very loose term — they felt more like last resorts. One, dark-haired, was from a good family, competent enough with her magic, but quick-tempered and aloof; the other, while not from a prestigious family, was still a pureblood. However Narcissa was unsure of her magical capability, and the young woman seemed rather vapid and self-centred. Shaking her head, she sighed softly. She’d had high hopes, but perhaps she had been too optimistic. 

Perhaps—but wait. Who were  _ they _ ? 

The Malfoy matriarch eyed the two newcomers with interest. One had vibrant, long red hair — a Weasley, most likely — and was wearing a red and gold gown that accentuated her flawless alabaster skin; and the other witch, her brown hair elegantly coiffed and adorned with flowers, was in a beautiful green gown etched with silver thread. Both women were stunning. What caught Narcissa’s eye, however, was the expression on the brunette’s face — a thinly disguised long-suffering look which reminded her uncannily of Draco. Meanwhile, her companion was clearly thrilled to be there, looking about with interest and excitement. Narcissa glided through the crowd, determined to get closer to the pair and observe their interactions with the rest of the guests.  
  


* * *

  
Blaise was pleased he had come. Of course, there was never any doubt he would attend — he had just indicated otherwise to upset Draco. There was a veritable smorgasbord of beautiful witches here, and he would be making it his personal mission to dance and flirt with as many of them as possible. Maybe even take one or two on a date, if they were interesting enough. He would start with— 

He did a double take. All thoughts of making his way around as many witches as possible flew out of his head as he laid eyes on the woman who had just entered the room. She was  _ captivating.  _

Nudging Draco, he whispered, “Check out the redhead who just walked in the door! Merlin’s beard, she’s  _ gorgeous _ !”

Draco, who was clearly bored out of his mind, glanced over disinterestedly and shrugged. “She’s alright, I suppose.” 

Blaise snorted. “You have  _ no _ taste in women! Come on, we’re going to say hello.” He grasped Draco by the upper arm and proceeded to drag him through the throng, determined to intercept the newcomer.

“Blaise! What — seriously?” Draco spluttered indignantly as he was pulled along.

“Just shut up and come on! She’s got a friend, and she looks your type. Hurry up, before another wizard gets there first.” A house-elf passed them, deftly levitating two trays of drinks over the heads of the guests, and Blaise reached up to snatch two glasses from one of them. Moments later, they were in front of the woman who had captured his attention. She stopped abruptly and stared up at him with wide, dark brown eyes that were positively enchanting. He reflected that it was quite possible this witch might just hold his interest. 

“Why, hello,” he purred in his most seductive and charming tone, as he handed her a glass of champagne. “I’m Zabini. Blaise Zabini.”  
  


* * *

  
Hermione was quite taken aback when a tall, handsome wizard with ebony skin suddenly materialised before them — or rather, before Ginny, who had clearly captured his interest — and introduced himself without preamble as Blaise Zabini. She recognised the name. Rumour abounded about Madam Zabini, his mother, who had reportedly outlived several very wealthy husbands. Almost as juicy were the rumours about Blaise himself, who was known to be wealthy and charming but a heartbreaker.

She elbowed Ginny, who was still staring mutely up at the wizard before her. “Oh! Hello! Erm— I’m Ginly — Weasley — Ginny Weasley,” her friend stammered, her high cheekbones pinkening as she took the glass he was offering. Hermione snickered.

“Ginny Weasley,” Bliase’s silken voice rumbled. He picked up Ginny’s free hand and kissed it lightly while bowing slightly, never breaking eye contact with her. “Such a pleasure to meet such a beautiful woman.”

“Um. Thank you,” Ginny squeaked, turning almost as red as her hair. 

Hermione found this hilarious. Her normally calm and collected friend was completely flustered by the attention. Not that she blamed her, mind — Blaise was even more handsome in person that the rumour said he was. She heard a snort from further back and looked behind him to see another man — tall, blond, Blaise’s friend, presumably — standing there with a sneer on his otherwise attractive face.

“You know, if the wind changes, your face might become stuck like that,” Hermione remarked to the blond man. Ginny and Blaise turned to look at her curiously, while the blond man scowled.

“I’m so sorry, where are my manners?” Blaise exclaimed. “I didn’t get your name, Miss—?”

“Granger. Hermione Granger.” she replied, amused. 

“Lovely to make your acquaintance. This—” he swept a hand behind him to indicate his friend, “—is Draco Malfoy.”

“Hello,” Hermione smiled. 

Draco looked like he was enjoying the ball about as much as she, and this cheered her up immensely. At least she wouldn’t be the only party-pooper here. Draco simply inclined his head, but she didn’t mind. They could be anti-social and resolutely ignore as many people as possible together, or, at least, in tandem.

“Miss Granger, would you mind terribly if I snatch Miss Weasley away for a turn on the dance floor?” Blaise asked.

“Be my guest,” Hermione replied graciously, with a small sweep of her arm.

“Bye, Hermione,” Ginny said breathlessly and Blaise slid an arm around her waist, guiding her through the crowd.

“Have fun,” Hermione waved.

She stood silently beside Draco for several minutes, watching the guests bustle about, talking and laughing. “Awful, isn’t it?” she stated, turning to him.

“What?” Draco answered, looking at her with a slightly startled expression.

“This,” Hermione continued, indicating the room. “The music, the people, the ostentatious decorations, this whole event.”

Draco looked at her in mild surprise. “Yes, it  _ is _ rather awful,” he said cautiously. “Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“Not really. I’m not a fan of balls, to be honest. I’m only here because Ginny  _ insisted _ we attend.”

Draco snorted. “I’m only here because my mother insisted.”

“That is unfortunate,” Hermione sympathised.

They stood in awkward silence for a few minutes more before Draco turned to her again. “Um — would you like to get a drink?”

“Sure.” Hermione shrugged. 

They wandered over to the bar, and she took a seat on a vacant stool, sighing with relief. The shoes Ginny had encouraged — no, actually,  _ strong-armed _ was the better word — her into buying to match her dress were high stilettos in black, and they were killing her feet because she had forgotten to cast a cushioning charm on them before they left.

Draco handed her a tall, slim glass of champagne and she took it with a nod of thanks. They looked at each other awkwardly, not sure what to say next. “So, Um. What do you do, Her—ahh—” he blushed while attempting to remember her name.

“Hermione,” she corrected. “Don’t worry, hardly anyone gets it right at first.”

“Hermione,” Draco repeated thoughtfully. “The daughter of the Spartan king Menelaus in Greek myth; and Queen of Sicilia in  _ The Winter’s Tale  _ by William Shakespeare.”

“Yes,” Hermione acknowledged, impressed. “I take it you’re familiar with Muggle literature?”

“Mother insisted I have a broad range of reading material,” Draco answered. “She always said that, primitive though Muggles throughout history are, there’s something to be said for their storytelling skills.”

“I’m sorry— _ primitive? _ ” Hermione repeated, feeling irritation bubble up inside her. 

“Well, yes. Don’t you think so? Their methods of transportation, for instance, are so  _ slow _ —” Draco stopped abruptly and took a step back. “What? Why are you looking at me like you’re about to hex me? What did I—?”

“I’m Muggleborn,” Hermione said tightly, her jaw clenched. “I’ll have you know that Muggles are not at  _ all _ primitive. On the contrary, they do quite nicely without magic. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” she stood, wincing as pain shot up through her feet again, and pushed through the crowd, fuming.  _ The cheek! Primitive! The prat! _

She looked around for Ginny, wondering if she could convince her to leave. Eventually she saw her friend, still dancing with Blaise and enjoying herself immensely. Hermione sighed. She wouldn’t spoil Ginny’s night by dragging her away. Feeling a tug at her arm, she turned to see Draco looking at her beseechingly.

“I’m sorry to have offended you,” he apologised. “I didn’t realise—”

“No, of course you didn’t,” she snapped. “I look remarkably  _ non primitive,  _ don’t I?”

Draco flinched back from the venom in her voice.

“You look very beautiful,” he replied quietly. “Particularly so in those colours. They suit you. And they also happen to be my favourite.”

Hermione stared back at him, trying to decide whether he was sincere or not. A sharp pain shot up the arch of her foot and she winced again. She was going to have blisters the size of gobstones by the time the night was over, she was certain— 

Draco muttered something, and quite suddenly the pain in her feet was gone. “Better?” he asked with a grin.

“How did you—” she frowned, looking down at her toes.

“A modified cushioning charm for shoes,” he explained. “A creation of my mother’s. She taught it to me in the hopes I might one day impress a witch with it.”

“And you were hoping it would impress me?” Hermione replied, with a sceptical arch of her brow.

“Well, yes,” Draco admitted. “At the very least, I was hoping you’d be less cross with me and hear me out.”

Hermione was rather grateful for the cushioning spell, and she had enjoyed the compliment about her dress, so she decided she would do just that. But she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Oh, sweet Circe, no.

“Well, thank you for the charm and the compliment,” she replied, crossing her arms. “You have one minute to make amends.”

“I came here expecting to hate every second,” he began, twisting his hands nervously, “And that was how things were progressing... Until I saw you. I don’t even know you, but something about you makes me want to. Know you, I mean. And your name. Hermione. It took me by surprise, because it’s beautiful. Like you. And you have fire in you. Not actual fire, of course, but a spirit. And—”

“You’re babbling,” Hermione interrupted, trying to be stern. But she could feel her traitorous lips wanting to curl up in a smile. His clear nervousness was adorable, even if he was a prat.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Babbling, I mean.” Draco paused, looking distraught and a bit desperate. “Please forgive me.”

“Very well,” Hermione sniffed. “As long as you refrain from insulting Muggles from now on, you’re forgiven.”

“Great,” he grinned at her. “Shall we dance?”

Hermione nodded, allowing Draco to lead her over to the dance floor and join the twirling couples, trying vainly to suppress a grin. He spun her around the room for one song, and then another, and then a third. He was a wonderful dancer and led her with confident ease. Now that her feet no longer pained her, she thought she would be happy to dance all night with this moody yet interesting man. An unknown time later, the band announced they were stopping for a break, and the dance floor gradually began to clear as couples moved away to refresh themselves and recover from their exertions. 

“Another drink?” Draco invited, and Hermione nodded happily. 

“That sounds wonderful,” she agreed.

“Hermione!”

She turned to greet Ginny, who was hurrying towards her with a huge smile on her face, Blaise on her arm. “Hi, Gin. Looks like you’re having fun.” She winked at the redheaded witch.

“Speak for yourself. You two seem to be having a good time.” Ginny nodded towards Draco with a knowing smirk. 

“Why don’t we all get drinks and then sit outside?” Blaise suggested. “There are warming charms all around the building, so it will be quite comfortable.”

Everyone agreed, and soon they were sitting at a small table with drinks in their hands, sharing a small plate of hors d'oeuvres between them.

Hermione was surprised at how easily conversation flowed and laughed frequently when Blaise teased Draco about all manner of things. Despite the ribbing, they were clearly good friends. 

The ebony-skinned wizard suddenly turned to Hermione and asked, “Has Draco introduced you to his mother yet?”

“No. Why would he?” Hermione frowned in confusion. “We’ve just met.”

“Of course, of course,” Blaise said. “Regardless,  _ she’ll _ have met  _ you _ by now.”

“I beg your pardon?” she replied, feeling suddenly self-conscious. She glanced over at Draco, who looked annoyed. 

“Stop it, Blaise,” he snapped. 

“No, tell me. What do you mean?” Hermione demanded.

“Well, it’s just that Draco’s mother — Lady Malfoy, you know — is very… shall we say... _ invested _ in her son’s affairs. She’ll have been watching the two of you, hoping Draco has finally met a witch he might take an interest in.”

“Oh,  _ Gods, _ ” Hermione groaned, looking at a mildly horrified Draco with suspicion. “You’re not one of those wizards who has an unhealthy relationship with his mother, are you?”

“I will have you know, I do  _ not _ !” Draco replied haughtily. “Have an unhealthy relationship with my mother, I mean. It’s perfectly normal.”

“Rubbish,” Blaise snorted, smirking. Hermione suspected the wizard was enjoying this whole situation far too much. “Draco’s mother absolutely  _ dotes _ on him, she’s always fussing about. ‘ _ Draco, when are you going to meet a nice witch and give me grandchildren’, ‘Draco, you simply must come along to this party so I can introduce you to such-and-such,’ ‘Draco, come shopping with me,’” _ Blaise said in a high falsetto.

“My mother does  _ not  _ sound like that.” Draco scowled.

“But she  _ does _ say those things?” Hermione pressed, disappointment creeping in. And he’d seemed so… well, not  _ normal,  _ but also not terrible.  _ Oh, well _ .

“No, no — she really doesn’t!” Draco insisted. “She’s just like any other mother. Ignore Blaise, he’s just being a prat.” He shot a fierce glare at his friend, who simply winked back at them.

Hermione shook her head, resolving not to dwell on the issue, and changed the subject, engaging the table in a discussion about their respective magical educations.  
  


* * *

  
Narcissa watched the group with a small smile. Thanks to a well-cast Notice-Me-Not Charm, she had been able to discreetly follow the girl — Hermione Granger — since her arrival. She had been amused to see Blaise sweeping the Weasley girl off her feet, and pleased to see Draco engaging with Hermione. His save when he had inadvertently offended her with his comment about Muggles had been clumsy, but effective. Narcissa made a mental note to herself to speak more favourably of Muggles around the girl, and although she had some misgivings about the fact she was a Muggleborn, she liked her no-nonsense approach and assertiveness. Draco seemed to like her too, which was promising.  _ I’ll send her an invitation to dinner along with the other two girls, _ she decided.

However, she would have to have stern words with Blaise later. As much as she adored her son’s charming and cheeky best friend, he couldn’t be allowed to mock her so. Absolutely not — even if he  _ did _ only do it to get a rise out of Draco. He might scare the Granger girl away before things had even begun, and that would not do at all.  
  


* * *

  
Unknown to anyone else present, Tom Riddle was watching, too.

He had recognised the Granger girl from Simmonds’ memories, although she looked remarkably different tonight than she had inside the man’s mind. She actually scrubbed up quite well. A plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. Not only would he have the potion she was working on, but he thought that, just perhaps, he might have  _ her,  _ too.

He waited all night for a good time to approach her, but alas, she spent the entire evening in the company of a red-headed woman and two dandy wizards Tom thought he recognised, although he was not troubled enough to recall their names. Their identities were not important — he was certain he could sweep them out of the way easily, if need be.  
  


* * *

  
Draco and Blaise stood together at the end of the evening, farewelling the two women who had become their impromptu dates that night. They had quickly bonded as a group, the two sets of friends fitting seamlessly together to form an unexpected quartet.

“Ginevra,  _ cara mia,  _ I shall see you again soon,” Blaise promised, kissing Ginny on the cheek and drawing back to stare meaningfully into her eyes, making her blush.

“Um, Hermione, can I owl you tomorrow?” Draco asked nervously.

The women exchanged a look before smiling at the men in front of them. Hermione nodded her assent. They bid each other goodnight, and with a whisper of cloth, Hermione and Ginny departed.

“Good Godric, I am bewitched,” Blaise declared dramatically once he and Draco were alone, placing a hand over his heart. 

Draco snorted. “I find it hard to believe that,” he replied sceptically. “She seems like a nice girl, and Hermione appears to be the vengeful type. So my advice is, don’t mess with her too much and let her down gently when you tire of her.”

“Let her  _ down? _ ” Blaise repeated, affronted. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Well, yes,” Draco said. “But I’m only saying this because I know exactly what you’re like. You’re fickle, Blaise. Fickle, with a short attention span.”

“At least I don’t turn into a blithering mess, like  _ you _ ,” Blaise retorted. “Honestly, you were worse than a prepubescent boy attempting to talk to his first crush.”

“I—I wasn’t  _ that _ bad!” he insisted.

“You  _ were _ . And it was glaringly obvious to everyone.”

“Whatever. I’m going home,” Draco grumbled. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Drake. If you dream of her, try and be more suave than you were tonight,” Blaise taunted. “Consider it practice.” 

“Twat,” he said, turning away with a wave. In truth, he rather hoped he  _ would _ dream of her. But of course, he would die before admitting it to his so-called friend or anyone else. He had a reputation as an aloof and disinterested snob to uphold.   
  


* * *

  
After arriving home, Hermione and Ginny performed their ablutions and climbed into bed, spending time discussing the ball and their companions for the evening. Hermione grudgingly admitted that she had had a lovely time, after all — once they had gotten past that unfortunate incident regarding Muggles’ level of social advancement, of course.

“That Malfoy bloke really likes you,” Ginny laughed. “He was so flustered all night. I thought he was going to hex Blaise when he made that crack about his mother.”

“Merlin, don’t remind me,” Hermione groaned. “The last thing I need in my life is a mummy’s boy whose mother thinks no witch is good enough for her precious son.” She scrunched up her face in disgust.

“I’m sure she’s not  _ that _ bad,” Ginny replied encouragingly.

“Oh? What have you heard about Lady Malfoy?”

Ginny frowned, her brow furrowed in concentration. “Not much, to be honest,” she replied after a few moments.

“Exactly!” Hermione replied triumphantly. “We know nothing about her. For all I’m aware, she  _ is _ crazy.” 

“Well, just give Malfoy a chance, that’s all I’m saying,” Ginny stated, grinning at Hermione. “I know I’m going to give Blaise a chance.”

Hermione laughed. “He’s certainly a charmer, if a bit cheeky.” Yawning widely, she added, “I’m exhausted. Let’s get some sleep. Goodnight, Gin.”

“‘Night, Hermione.”  
  


* * *

The next morning, the witches were awoken by a tapping at their window. Ginny got up first and let the delivery owl in, taking the letter. It flew off immediately and the redhead turned the envelope over curiously. Crossing the small room, she tapped her friend with it.

“Hermione, you’ve got a letter — it’s fancy! It looks like an invitation.”

The curly-haired witch sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She took the envelope and squinted blearily at it, before examining the wax seal. “Do you recognise the crest?” she asked, holding it up to Ginny.

The redhead looked at it carefully at it and shook her head. “Hurry up and open it!” she urged.

“Nosy witch,” Hermione grumbled good-naturedly, popping the seal and withdrawing the piece of paper inside. Ginny plopped down beside her to read over her shoulder. 

“What in seven Hells…?” Hermione exclaimed. Turning furiously to Ginny, she shook the paper at her. “A  _ matching  _ ceremony? Is this some sort of joke?”

Ginny, who had started sniggering, took the paper from her friend’s hand and scanned it a second time. “I don’t know,” she snorted, wiping her eyes. “But it’s so ridiculously old-fashioned. No one does this sort of thing any more!”

“Are you serious?” Hermione exclaimed in disbelief. “Don’t tell me families  _ actually  _ do— _ did _ —archaic things like this and people willingly participated?

“Pureblood families did,” Ginny replied. “Especially the wealthy ones. It was one way of matchmaking, but once the more distinguished lines started to dwindle, the parents started to run out of potential partners for their children, so they ditched the matching ceremony in favour of arranging marriages directly between themselves.”

The letter in question was indeed an invitation — one asking Hermione to participate in a matching ceremony to  _ “showcase her magical talents, poise, intelligence and personality”  _ in a bid to be  _ “welcomed joyously into the Malfoy dynasty.”  _ It was signed in delicate, scrawling feminine script,  _ Lady Narcissa Malfoy _ and requested her presence at Malfoy Manor two days from today, at nine am.

“Well, I’m not bloody going!” Hermione growled petulantly. “I’m not going to prance about like—like some  _ prize pony _ in a bloody show, with my hair in bloody ribbons, flashing my—what do the witches flash?—in the hope I’ll please the spectators so much that they decide to award me the blue ribbon and adopt me!”

Ginny snorted with laughter. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh, but you’ve described the whole thing almost perfectly, except for the pony part. And you don’t have to flash any  _ skin  _ — actually, definitely  _ don’t _ do that — but other than that, you’re on point.”

“Ugh. Pureblood traditions are an insult to feminism.”

“Well, yes. But you should go anyway, if only to show them up. Do you think Lady Malfoy knows you’re Muggleborn? Imagine the looks on their snooty, upper-class faces if a Muggleborn witch outperforms the other women! It’d  _ destroy _ them!”

Hermione sighed in annoyance. “But I don’t  _ want _ nor  _ need _ to prove myself to anyone!” she insisted. “Admittedly, it  _ would _ be funny to wave my blood status in their entitled, privileged faces, but I’m still not a prize to be  _ awarded _ to someone!”

“Not even if it’s Draco Malfoy?” Ginny teased, an eyebrow quirking in amusement.

“Sweet Morgana, Ginny, I’ve only just met the man! I don’t even know if I like him yet!”

“Oh, you like him alright,” Ginny sang. “You’re  _ blushing, _ Hermione Granger.”

“I’m  _ not!”  _ Hermione huffed.

“You  _ are! _ Go on - do it anyway!”

“NO!”

“Surely you’re not…” Ginny paused dramatically, her grin mischievous. “...Afraid?”

“No, I’m bloody well  _ not! _ I just don’t want to!”

“Uh huh, whatever.” Ginny waved a hand dismissively, getting up from the bed. She made her way over to her trunk and began to get dressed. Pulling her dress over her head, she adjusted the hem before continuing, “It’s not like you to be intimidated by people like them. But I understand.”

“I’m  _ not _ intimidated! I just refuse to legitimise such a ridiculous tradition by agreeing to be part of it!”

“But  _ they _ won’t see it that way. They’ll think you can’t handle whatever they throw at you.”

“Rubbish,” Hermione snorted, folding her arms against her chest. “I could handle  _ anything _ they threw at me, and probably better than those pureblood snobs, too. We’ve already established this!”

“So go,” Ginny repeated, throwing Hermione’s clothes at her. “Show them, then tell them to bugger off or something.”

“And if I don’t?”

Ginny shrugged. “Then life will go on. But people will talk, and it will become public knowledge that the witch who declined to participate in the matching ceremony is Muggleborn, and certain people in wizarding society will take you even  _ less _ seriously than they do now. I know you don’t usually care about what people think of you, but just remember that most of the ones sitting in the high positions in the Ministry and St Mungo’s Board of Directors are purebloods. If you want to get somewhere with your potions career, I suggest you play along now.”

“Bollocks,” Hermione grumbled, scowling, as she began to dress. “So you’re saying I’ve no choice in the matter but to accept and be part of this farce?” 

“You always have a choice. You can still decline. But sometimes it’s best to go with what appears to be the least favourable option if it could be strategically beneficial in the long run.”

She gave a long-suffering sigh. “What would I have to do at this matching ceremony?”

Ginny shrugged. “Usually it’s potions, spells and charms, an interview, and sometimes duelling.”

“Duelling?” Hermione asked in surprise. “Why would a candidate for a pureblood marriage need to demonstrate their duelling ability?”

“Back when the ceremony was popular, there were regular feuds between families as alliances formed and dissolved,” Ginny explained. “A potential wife was expected to be able to defend the family name and any heirs, in order to ensure the continuation of the lines.”

Hermione snorted in disgust. “Wasn’t the constant fighting one of the reasons the pureblood magical lines began to decline in the first place? Because they killed each other off?” she checked.

“That, and inbreeding,” Ginny agreed. “Which brings us to one of the likely factors behind the increase in Squib births and decline in successful pregnancies carrying to term that we’re facing now.”

“And the world turns,” muttered Hermione. She sat on her bed, thinking. “What happens to the successful witch? Is she immediately bound into marriage?”

“Oh, nothing like that,” Ginny reassured her friend. “A compatibility charm is performed to check how successful a match would be. If the results are positive, the heir of the family begins courting the witch, following the usual pureblood traditions, for a period of six months. It gives the pair a chance to get to know each other before the match is finalised.”

“Only six months?” Hermione exclaimed.

“That’s  _ ages _ by wizarding standards. Engagements are usually quite short.”

“What do I wear to this stupid ceremony? Not a ball gown, I hope?”

Ginny laughed. “Of course not. Ball gowns aren’t exactly practical for brewing and duelling. A Blouse and knee-length skirt with low heels would be acceptable.”

Hermione nodded. “Right then. Let’s go get something to eat.”  
  


* * *

  
At Malfoy Manor, Draco was having what could best be described as a small tantrum. “How could you do it, Mother? I told you, I don’t  _ want _ you choosing a witch for me! I’ll do it when I’m good and ready!” He barely suppressed a mad urge to stomp his foot.

“I’m not  _ choosing _ a witch for you, Draco,” Narcissa replied, with a long-suffering expression. “I merely invited three witches who could be potential matches for you to participate in a traditional ceremony to showcase their skills and talents. It might be possible that none of them are suitable, but we won’t find out until the tasks are completed.”

“I’ll have nothing to do with it!” Draco protested, folding his arms over his chest.

“You don’t need to, Draco,” Narcissa replied patiently. “It will be up to me to observe the witches and conduct the necessary interviews. All you’ll be needed for is the charm to check for compatibility.”

“I won’t do that, either! You can’t make me!”

“It would be terribly impolite of you not to at least acknowledge the successful witch, Draco,” Narcissa frowned.

“I don’t care!”

“Aren’t you even curious to know who will be participating in the ceremony?” she asked, innocently. Draco was immediately suspicious. He didn’t like the satisfied, knowing smirk on her face. However, he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking.

“No,” he snarled, turning on his heel and stomping out of the room.

  
The day of the ceremony, Draco was sulking in his room when there was a knock at his door. An elf poked her head around the edge. “Master Malfoy, Mister Blaise is come to sees you.”

“Show him in,” he grumbled with an inpatient flick of his hand.

“I’ve come to watch the matching ceremony,” Blaise announced, strolling into the room. “Why aren’t you down there yet? All the witches are here.”

“I already told Mother I’m not interested!” Draco huffed.

“Oh, stop being so dramatic,” Blaise replied, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like they’re drawing up any marriage contract.... Not yet, anyway.” He grinned. 

“ _ Not _ interested,” Draco repeated, turning away towards the big bay window that overlooked the expansive gardens beyond the Manor.

“Well, that’s a pity,” Blaise murmured. “Your mother made some interesting choices. Parkinson’s there—"

“—self-absorbed, obsessed with shopping,” Draco grumbed.

“There’s Brown, she’s quite attractive, you know—”

“—not much of a conversationalist, though, is she?” 

“And then there’s—” Blaise paused. “Well, let’s just say I’m mildly surprised at your mother’s third choice.” He waited for a reaction, but Draco was determined not to give him one. Maybe if he said nothing, Blaise would go away.

“You quite liked her, as I recall,” Blaise added, not in the least put off by Draco’s silence. “Clearly, she made quite an impression on your mother, too.” Draco turned around abruptly, immediately cursing himself for reacting. Blaise’s self-satisfied smirk only irritated him further. Not yet done, he delivered the final shot.

“It’s the Granger girl.”

“ _ What?” _ Draco leapt out of his chair, horror, embarrassment and another feeling he wasn’t quite prepared to acknowledge blooming in his stomach.

“Oh, yes,” Blaise nodded serenely. “She looks a bit nervous, but I’ve heard she’s a dab hand at magic despite her blood status. She might give those other bints a run for their money.”

“Does Mother know Hermione is Muggleborn?” Draco frowned.

“No idea,” Blaise shrugged. “But knowing Narcissa, anything is possible.”  
  


* * *

  
The day following the ball, Tom began to set the wheels in motion for his grand plan to take ownership of the rights to the Granger girl’s patent —and the rights to  _ her _ , as well. It had been some time since his last wife had tragically passed of a sudden illness, although she had not been the first to pass through the veil. It was time he married again.

Gathering his cloak, Tom headed to the Ministry to speak to the head of research. He needed to convince him to pull the plug on Granger’s funding. He knew without even checking his files that this man, Crouch, was not on his books. He had no vices, no debt, nothing Tom could hope to exploit, and the information he did have about the department head told him Crouch was highly bureaucratic. He was not the type of man who could be easily bribed, there were no inferi in his closet Tom could use to blackmail him with, and he didn’t cave easily to threats. No matter — a good, old-fashioned  _ Imperio  _ would certainly do the trick as a last resort. Wearing a grin full of anticipation, Tom stepped through his Floo, calling out his destination.  
  


* * *

  
Hermione arrived at the gates of Malfoy Manor with Ginny in tow as her support person, the missive from Narcissa Malfoy clasped tightly in her hand. She stared up at the imposing gothic building that loomed in the near distance, in awe of its dark beauty. It was all pointed turrets, jutting wings, and large windows. A soft  _ pop  _ in front of them drew her attention, and she glanced down to see a house elf in a clean pink tea towel standing before them.

“Good morning, Misses. Is yous here for the matching ceremony?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied, offering the invitation. The elf took it and bowed.

“Welcome, Miss Hermione Granger and Miss Hermione Granger’s friend. If yous will be following me, please.” She turned and led them up the expansive driveway to the house. Minutes later, they stepped through wide double doors and into a magnificent entrance. Black and white tile lined the floor, a beautiful chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and the corners were sparsely decorated with subtle, yet expensive-looking furnishings.

“Ahh, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley! Welcome! Thank you so much for coming.”

Hermione and Ginny turned to regard the woman with the soft, regal voice. “Mrs Malfoy, I presume?” Hermione answered with a quirk of her brow. “Forgive me if I don’t immediately thank you for your invitation. I must confess I’m not accustomed to participating in stuffy, arcane pureblood matchmaking rituals. I’m not sure if you were aware that I’m Muggleborn? It’s all so different from the  _ primitive _ courtship methods Muggles favour. In most cases, we are given leave to choose our own spouses, of our own free will.”

“ _ Hermione! _ ” Ginny hissed.

Narcissa’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Hermione waited for the older witch to order them to leave the Manor forthwith and never return. However, her lips cracked into a smile and she allowed a small, tinkling laugh to issue forth. “Oh, you  _ do _ have fire inside you! Splendid! Yes, I am aware of your heritage. I’m quite progressive, Miss Granger. I like a witch who isn’t afraid to speak her mind, although in the past, tradition has not always regarded such a thing favourably.” She stepped forward, offering her hand. “Please allow me to apologise most profusely for my thoughtless comments regarding Muggles, which my son regrettably echoed. It was not my, or his, intention to cause offense.”

Slowly clasping Narcissa’s hand with her own, Hermione nodded slowly. “Thank you. Ginny here—” she nodded towards the redheaded witch “—reminded me that the attitudes of magical folk towards Muggles are usually born of ignorance and fear, rather than genuine malice, and that some can be convinced to change their views, given time. I sincerely hope, if you are as progressive as you say, I can demonstrate to you that I am just as capable a witch as any from the most ancient of pureblood wizarding families.”

Narcissa didn’t respond to the subtle jibe, instead turning to smile at Ginny, offering her hand in greeting. “Ahh yes, Miss Weasley — your mother is Molly, yes? Her maiden name was Prewett?”

“That’s right, Mrs Malfoy,” Ginny agreed.   
  


“Oh, Narcissa will be perfectly adequate,” she replied. Turning, she gestured to the witches to follow. “If you’ll step this way, ladies, we’ll take tea in the garden before we begin.” 

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look and followed the regal witch through the Manor. Stepping through another set of double doors and down a path, they soon found themselves in the garden. Hermione gasped in amazement as she cast her eyes over the expansive collection. There were so many species of magical plants here! Her mind immediately started cataloging all the breeds which could be used as potions ingredients. She identified Aconite, Dittany, Puffapods, Shrivelfig, Valerian, Wormwood…

“This way,” Narcissa called. She led them around a corner and up the steps of a small gazebo, where four other witches were seated, making conversation. “Please, be seated,” she invited. Another elf, this one in a green tea towel, appeared with a tray of sandwiches and small cakes, then busied himself pouring iced tea. Once everyone had sampled the refreshments, Narcissa stood gracefully to address the assembled group.

“I thank you all for agreeing to attend today. The ceremony will begin shortly. Each of you will be required to identify a potion and replicate it; to perform various charms and spells, including wandless and wordless; participate in a friendly duel; and finally conduct an interview. Please take the time to prepare yourselves. Our elves will show you to the solarium in five minutes.” 

At the conclusion of her speech, Narcissa bowed her head in farewell before moving lightly down the steps and across the grounds, leaving Hermione to warily eye the two women she would be competing with. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late posting, folks - this week got away from me!

Draco and Blaise watched silently from a catwalk above the solarium as the young witches filed in. Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise to see Blaise had been telling the truth, after all — Hermione Granger  _ was _ there! He’d thought maybe Blaise had made up the bit about Granger to trick him into looking in on the ceremony.

“Told you,” Blaise murmured. 

“Your witch is here, too. No wonder you were so keen to watch,” Draco murmured back, nodding towards Ginny, who was trailing Hermione.

Blaise shrugged noncommittally. “It’s an added bonus.”

Meanwhile, Ginny, along with Pansy’s and Lavender’s mothers, had been directed by a house-elf to be seated in armchairs against one wall, while the three witches who would be participating were lined up before Narcissa.

“Welcome, ladies. For the first task, you must make a judgement call. Each of you will be required to choose one of three chests, and open that chest to reveal the mysteries it holds. I will be assessing your reasoning and your ability to think quickly.” Narcisa waved her wand, and three chests floated across the room to settle in a row before her. One was gold, the second silver, and the last made of copper. “Miss Brown, you will go first.”

Lavender stepped forward. “I choose the golden chest,” she said firmly. 

“Why?” Narcissa asked with a smile, her head tilted to one side.

“Because gold is both beautiful and valuable,” Lavender replied dreamily. 

“Very well,” Narcissa replied. With a wave of her wand, the lid popped open. Three garden gnomes immediately jumped out and ran straight for Lavender. She shrieked in surprise as they advanced, then gasped as they grabbed fistfuls of her cloak and dress, tugging on the fabric and laughing.

“Get them off!” Lavender cried, backing away. “Oh, they’re awful!” Draco and Blaise exchanged a look, and Draco rolled his eyes. After a minute of attempting to wrestle her clothing away from the small creatures, she remembered her wand and pointed it at them. “ _ Relashio! _ ” The gnomes squealed in annoyance and let her go, then turned and rushed out towards the open doors leading to the garden, their stubby little legs moving so fast they were blurs. 

“Thank you, Miss Brown. You may step back. Miss Parkinson, please step forward,” Narcissa invited, her face giving nothing away.

Pansy moved to stand in front of the remaining chests. “I choose silver,” she stated. “Silver is malleable and able to be used in a variety of ways, including medicinally.”

Narcissa waved her wand and the lid popped open. A huge serpent with glowing red eyes emerged, hissing. It was monstrous. It opened its mouth, revealing gigantic fangs dripping with venom. Draco and Blaise looked over at Pansy, who had gone pale and taken a step back. It reared back and whipped downwards, striking at the frightened witch. She dived out of the way with a gasp, rolled to her feet and seemed to come to her senses. Aiming her wand at the snake and steeling herself, she cried, “ _ Riddikulus!”  _ The snake turned a lurid shade of pink, while its fangs morphed into liquorice wands. It withdrew into the chest it had emerged from, and the lid slammed shut.

“Well done, Miss Parkinson,” Narcissa nodded. Turning to Hermione, she held out a hand to beckon her forward. “Tell me, what do you think of copper?”

“It was one of the first metals to be used by humans, the first to be smelted, and the first to be alloyed with another metal - tin - to form bronze. Since it‘s commonplace it is often overlooked and taken for granted. Many don’t realise how many everyday items contain copper.”

“Well spoken,” Narcissa smiled. She waved her wand and the lid of the copper chest popped open. A flurry of blue winged creatures shot into the air and made a beeline for every corner of the room, determined to cause havoc.

“Cornish pixies?” Blaise observed, ducking as a small blue blur flew over his head. “However did your mother manage to acquire those?”

“My mother can acquire just about anything,” Draco commented dryly. 

He turned back to see how Hermione would handle the mischievous, difficult to capture beings. She watched their progress, her eyes flicking rapidly around the room. He watched as she casually aimed her wand, just as the swarm drew back together near a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “ _ Immobilus.”  _ The spell shot from her wand, and the pixies were quite suddenly frozen in midair. With a second wave of her wand, Hermione banished them back into the chest they had from emerged from. The lid clanged shut.

“Nicely done!” Blaise commented, admiration in his voice. “She didn’t even flinch.”

“Well done, ladies. For your next task, you will each be required to identify a potion, and describe the ingredients and method required to brew it. Follow me to the brewing room, please.”

Narcissa led the witches out of the solarium and through a door. Blaise hurried across the catwalk and down the stairs with a grin. “Come on, Draco! Hurry up!” He called over his shoulder. Draco sighed and followed. At the bottom, a still grinning Blaise met Ginny. “Hey, red,” he winked, clasping her hand and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Hey, yourself,” she replied with a flirty smile. Draco rolled his eyes and huffed impatiently. Ginny turned to Draco with a smirk. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I forget to acknowledge you, oh pointy-faced one?”

“You two are disgusting,” Draco grumbled. “And I’m  _ not _ pointy-faced! My features are  _ distinguished! _ ”

“We’re going to miss the potions test!” Blaise whined. “Come  _ on! _ ”

“You’re the one standing here flirting,” Draco sniped. He turned on his heel and stomped off towards the cellar, Ginny, Blaise and the elder witches trailing behind him. When they arrived in the small brewing room where the next task was being held, they found the younger witches lined up once again in front of Narcissa. Behind her, three cauldrons simmered. Draco gestured towards a row of chairs set up for the spectators, and waited for everyone to be seated before taking his place and nodding reluctantly to his mother.

She inclined her head in acknowledgement and turned to face the younger women. “Miss Brown, please choose a cauldron,” Narcissa urged. 

Lavender looked nervous and uncertain. Her neck craned as she examined the cauldrons. She appeared to be trying to gauge their contents. “Um.” She twisted her hands in front of her. “I choose the middle one.” Narcissa stepped aside and indicated the witch forward.

Moving slowly towards the cauldron she had chosen, Lavender appeared to be steeling herself for something both unexpected and unpleasant. Ginny leaned forward across Blaise and whispered to him and Draco, “I’ve heard she’s shite at potions. Barely managed to get an Acceptable during her OWLs.” A disapproving sniff caused Draco to look over Ginny’s head, where Lavender’s mother was glaring at them. 

Lavender, meanwhile, was frowning into her cauldron as if she had never seen one before. She sniffed experimentally, wrinkled her forehead, then brightened. “ _ OH _ ! It’s a Calming Draught, isn’t it?”

Narcissa nodded approvingly. “Indeed it is. Please summarise the ingredients and brewing method.” 

Lavender tittered nervously. “Well… Um. I know it has lavender in it. Like my name! And—” she paused, her nose scrunched up as she attempted to recall the other ingredients. The silence stretched on, becoming increasingly awkward while Lavender’s face slowly grew red with embarrassment, until Narcissa quietly cleared her throat.

“Will that be all, Miss Brown?”

Lavender looked down at her feet, her bottom lip wobbling. “Yes, madam. I’m afraid potions class was never my strong point.”

“We can’t all be good at everything,” Narcissa conceded graciously. Turning to Pansy, she continued, “Miss Parkinson. If you will step forward, please.”

Pansy stepped forward and indicated the cauldron on the right. Narcissa gestured for the younger witch to approach. “It’s a Wit-Sharpening Potion,” Pansy stated after examining the contents. “Useful as an antidote for the  _ Confundus _ charm. The ginger root should be added first, followed by the armadillo bile, then the ground scarab beetles. Attention should be paid to the colour changes. Alternate armadillo bile and ginger root, again paying attention to colour, leave to simmer, then finally add the last of the ginger root until the potion becomes dark orange in colour.”

Narcissa nodded, clearly impressed. “Well done, Miss Parkinson.” Pansy smiled and retreated. Draco saw her smirk at Lavender as she passed. “And finally, Miss Granger. What can you tell me about the remaining potion?”

Hermione approached the cauldron with confidence, her steps sure and her head held high. “A Shrinking Solution,” she said after glancing at the contents. “However—” she sniffed at the liquid, then conjured a small dipper and vial, transferring some of the contents. Holding the vial up to the light, Hermione turned it this way and that, before inserting the dipper into the cauldron again and carefully placing one drop of the potion on her tongue.

“Just as I thought,” she continued. “This potion has been brewed incorrectly. If one was to drink it, they would become violently ill.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “Are you certain, Miss Granger?” 

Hermione nodded confidently. “The daisy roots have not been added. It’s not a catastrophic error, but the results would nevertheless be exceedingly unpleasant for the drinker.”

Narcissa stepped forward to examine the potion for herself. Draco, who considered himself proficient in the subject, hurried forward to do the same. He conjured a vial and dipper of his own, examining the potion as Hermione had, before tasting a single drop himself. “She’s correct, Mother,” he announced. “The daisy roots  _ have _ been left out.” He frowned. “Who brewed these?” 

“My cousin, Sirius,” Narcissa replied with a frown. “He assured me he could competently brew most standard potions.”

“Well, he clearly can’t,” Draco replied. “I think you’d best stick with asking  _ me _ to brew potions, in future.”

“Indeed,” Narcissa mused. Turning to Hermione, she continued, “Very impressive, Miss Granger. Your potions skills are exemplary.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said modestly.

“I should hope her skills are exemplary,” Ginny piped up from her seat. “She  _ is _ a potioneer, after all.”

“ _ What! _ ” Lavender’s mother exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “But… but that’s  _ cheating _ ! That witch has an unfair advantage over my daughter!”

“And mine!” added Mrs Parkinson, also rising. “She should be disqualified at once!”

“Oh,  _ please, _ ” Ginny snorted. “ It’s not cheating. There was absolutely no requirement in the invitation to declare any special qualifications prior to the ceremony.”

“Nobody will be disqualified,” Narcissa said firmly. “Now, it is time to show your duelling skills. Follow me out to the garden, please.” The group trailed behind her, Lavender’s mother still muttering crossly. When they arrived in the garden, Draco saw a duelling platform had already been conjured. He did love watching a duel, and he suspected Hermione might be quite skilled—

“Ahh, you’re getting into it now, aren’t you, Draco?” He glanced back at Blaise, who was smirking widely.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco scoffed, quickly schooling his features into an expression of indifference. “I couldn’t care less.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Blaise replied. “Isn’t he, red?”

Ginny laughed. “He’s not fooling anyone.”

Draco huffed in annoyance and strode ahead of the group, heading for a tree on the far side of the platform. He threw his back against the trunk and folded his arms over his chest, scowling. How  _ dare _ Blaise accuse him of being  _ interested _ in this stupid ceremony! Just because he liked watching duelling matches didn’t mean he actually  _ cared _ about the outcome. Although, he supposed Hermione  _ was  _ rather good at spells. And potions. She was a  _ potioneer _ — he’d had no idea. She was probably quite good at duelling, too. Plus she was pretty. And witty. And—

“Take your places, ladies!”

Draco blinked. He had been so lost in thought, he had almost missed the start of the first round. Lavender against Pansy. Lavender looked nervous, while Pansy looked determined. Each strode towards the other, meeting in the centre of the platform, and raised their wands in a silent salute, before turning on their heels and returning to their places to take up duelling positions.

"Begin!" Narcissa cried. 

Pansy was immediately on the offensive, firing an  _ Aguamenti  _ at her opponent. Lavender responded with a Shield Charm, then returned fire with a Jelly-Legs Jinx that Pansy dodged. Pansy sent a Stinging Hex that Lavender was only partially able to deflect, resulting in her left arm erupting in boils. The two witches continued to trade hexes back and forth, Lavender tiring rapidly and mainly relying on defensive spells and charms. After only a few minutes, Pansy got through with a well-aimed  _ Incarcerous _ and Lavender thumped to the platform, defeated. The crowd applauded politely, but Draco suppressed a yawn. As duels went, that had been terribly boring.

“Well done, Miss Parkinson.” Narcissa congratulated her. “You may have five minutes to rest before you face Miss Granger.”

Blaise and Ginny sauntered over to join him. “Isn’t this all so  _ exciting? _ ” Blaise asked.

“No,” Draco answered shortly.

“It’s about to be,” Ginny interjected. “Your favorite witch is next, and she’s pretty quick with her wand.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco muttered, trying to look like he didn’t care. “I don’t have any favourites. This is boring.  _ You’re _ boring. Go away.”

“Shan’t,” replied Ginny with a smirk.

“Yes,  _ shan’t _ ,” Blaise echoed obnoxiously. 

Draco decided to ignore them. Besides, Pansy and Hermione were preparing to mount the platform. They followed the protocols, then turned to face each other, wands at the ready. Pansy attacked immediately with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. Hermione conjured a shield and —  _ at the same time —  _ fired an  _ Aguamenti _ . Pansy responded with a burst of flames from her wand, causing the water to evaporate with a hiss of steam, then followed up with an  _ Impedimenta _ that Hermione dodged. Draco stood up straighter as they continued to trade spells. This match was far more interesting. Although Pansy was more aggressive, Hermione had a swifter reaction time and was able to use defensive and offensive spells simultaneously. The match had been going for more than five minutes, and now Pansy was the one tiring.

_ “Stupefy!” _ Pansy cried. Hermione conjured a shield with her free hand, and a flock of birds with her wand. Draco blinked. He had been listening closely, and he was  _ certain _ she hadn’t—

The birds had flown at Pansy and were attacking her. She instinctively covered her head, then recovered and destroyed them with a  _ Reducto _ . But before she had time to make her next move, Hermione had fired an  _ Expelliarmus _ followed by  _ Incarcerous _ , and Pansy suddenly found herself in the same position she had left Lavender in previously — wandless, the match over.

Ginny and Blaise erupted in cheers and whoops. Draco looked around, feeling slightly dazed. Pansy’s mother looked murderous, while both Lavender and her mother were staring with open mouths. His own mother was positively beaming and applauding as she approached the platform. “Nicely done once again, Miss Granger!” she exclaimed. “Take time to rest. You will face Miss Brown when—”

“NO!” Lavender interrupted, her face twisted in a grimace. “I can’t! I  _ won’t! _ I’m sorry, but I— I withdraw from the ceremony.”

_ “Lavender!” _ her mother hissed.

“I wish to  _ withdraw, _ mother!” Lavender answered, turning to face her. “I didn’t really want to compete anyway! I only did it because you insisted I should!” 

She turned to Narcissa, bowing apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mrs Malfoy. I mean no disrespect, and I thank you for honoring our family with the opportunity, but—”

“Your heart wasn’t in it,” Narcissa finished, smiling. “I completely understand, Miss Brown, and take no offense. Who is the man who has won your heart?”

Lavender turned red. “I— I don’t— how did you know?”

“It’s not so hard to see. My advice, Miss Brown, is to follow your heart. Does the wizard return your feelings?”

“He does,” Lavender replied.

“And what is his name?”

Laender looked up shyly, glanced at Ginny, then quickly looked back at Narcissa. “Ronald Weasley.” 

Lavender’s mother gasped at the same time that Ginny cried, “ _ What _ ? You like my idiot  _ brother _ ?” before bursting into gales of laughter.

Lavender frowned. “He’s  _ not _ an idiot! He’s sweet and kind.”

“And  _ poor _ !” her mother interjected heatedly.

“HEY! Just because my family isn’t rich doesn’t mean my brother isn’t worthy of her, you old bat!” Ginny interrupted, her face red with anger. Turning to Lavender, she added, “Just don’t break his heart. If you do, I’ll curse you so bad you’ll wish you’d never met me.”

“How  _ dare _ you—!” Mrs Brown cried imperiously, drawing herself up.

“Oh, shut it,” Ginny said dismissively, turning her back on the older witch and eyeing Lavender closely. “You— Lavender — do we understand each other?”

Lavender nodded mutely, eyeing Ginny warily, as if the redhead might attack her at any moment. Draco met Blaise’s eyes, and the dark-haired wizard grinned at him and winked. “You tell her, red,” he encouraged Ginny.

“Right. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll take our leave,” Lavender said, taking her mother by her arm and ignoring the woman’s protests. “Thank you so much for having us, Mrs Malfoy. Draco.” She nodded to them both.

Narcissa approached the Browns and shook their hands before summoning an elf, directing him to show them out, then turned to the rest of the party. “Well, since Miss Brown has withdrawn, we’ll progress to the next stage. But first, refreshments. Please follow me to the conservatory.”

When everyone was seated, Narcissa called for another elf, who served tea, lemonade and sandwiches. Everyone ate quietly, the atmosphere tense. Draco considered excusing himself and leaving —  _ why _ was he here again? — then glanced at Hermione and jumped slightly in his seat when he realised she had been watching him out of the corner of her eye. She, on the other hand, barely blinked an eyelid, holding his gaze for just a moment before picking up her teacup and taking a sip.

His mother cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her. Draco groaned internally. His mother had that look on her face,the one that said she was about to let loose with a hidden bludger. “I have come to the conclusion that since there are now only two witches participating in the ceremony, I will forego the interviews, and instead, we will engage in a round-the-table discussion. The topic will be—” Narcissa glanced at Hermione, and appeared to consider for a moment. “—attitudes and social statuses within wizarding society, and how they affect us differently.” 

Draco raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling he knew what his mother was hinting at. But what was her intent?

“Excellent choice,” Ginny said, raising her teacup in a salute. “May I ask what prompted you to choose this particular topic?”

Narcissa smiled and glanced at Hermione again. Pausing to take a delicate sip of her tea, she replied, “I grew up with certain values and attitudes about society and people’s place in it, based on their ancestry. Regrettably, I passed those values on to my own son without stopping to question them. I was forced to re-examine those values when it became apparent they could be seen as offensive. It made me think more carefully about what I accepted as true, and whether what I believed was justified.” Her eyes roved around the table, meeting the gaze of each person in turn. When she turned to Hermione, something seemed to pass between them.

Pansy was the first to speak. “May I ask which values you came to question?” 

“The advancement of Muggles as a civilisation,” Narcissa answered.

Mrs Parkinson snorted. “Advancement? What advancement? Any civilisation that cannot use magic is barely advanced at all. Their ancestors lived in caves and wore animal skins, for Merlin’s sake!”

“And they have developed significantly as a civilisation since then,  _ without _ the benefit of magic,” Hermione spoke up, her eyes blazing. “Muggles have developed life-saving medicines and made untold scientific discoveries, invented numerous machines capable of complex tasks, made travel around the world possible, and created technology that continues to advance. Our many Muggle inventions and tools would, quite frankly, overwhelm any witch or wizard who did not have a background in our world. In fact, in many ways, the Muggle world is  _ more _ advanced than the wizarding world.”

Pansy’s mother gasped in outrage, bringing her hand to her throat to clutch at the delicate string of pearls hanging there, as if the action would protect her from Hermione’s words. “How— how  _ dare _ you speak to me in such a manner, girl! Your parents should have taught you manners!”

“Oh, they taught me manners,” Hermione countered, her lips twitching in amusement. “But they also taught me to stand up and fight prejudicial attitudes like yours.”

“What sort of parent would fill their child’s head with such utter nonsense? You poor child, being raised by Muggle-lovers.” Pansy’s mother sniffed, flipping her hand dismissively at Hermione.

“Actually, since I’m Muggleborn, I was raised by  _ Muggles _ , and they are fine people,” Hermione snapped, leaning forward. “They taught me values and morals, the likes of which someone like you would never understand because you’ve got your head stuck too far up your own snobby, elitist arse.”

Blaise clapped loudly. “Brava, Hermione! Well said!” Draco turned to look at his friend in surprise. He had been so enthralled by the argument that he had quite forgotten anyone else was there. 

“Pansy, what’s  _ your  _ opinion?” Blaise continued. “I see your mother has been rendered mute with shock. In fact, it looks like she may faint.” All heads turned to regard Mrs Parkinson, and indeed, Draco observed she had gone quite pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. It was  _ most  _ unattractive.

“I—you mean I was—I’ve been beaten in all tasks by a  _ mudblood _ ?”

Ginny stood up so fast her chair toppled over and fell with a crash to the floor. “Hermione is a  _ Muggleborn _ ,” she said quietly, her voice full of menace. “You will  _ not  _ use that slur in front of me, or Morgana help me, I will curse your hair bright pink and you will never be able to reverse it.”

“Gin, we’ve talked about this,” Hermione interrupted. “It’s not necessary for you to turn your wand on everyone who uses that word.”

“I’m perfectly aware it’s not  _ necessary _ , just as  _ you  _ know full well it’s my preference,” Ginny answered, her fierce gaze never leaving Pansy.

“I do know,” Hermione replied patiently. “But  _ I _ would  _ prefer _ if you refrained from it in this instance.”

“I would also prefer you refrain, Miss Weasley, at least while we are at the table,” Narcissa added. Her lips quirked in what could have been either a grimace or a suppressed smirk. Draco suspected the latter.

“Fine,” Ginny grumbled, resuming her seat.

“Narcissa!” Mrs Parkinson boomed, finally finding her voice. “Surely you aren’t about to let that—that  _ child _ threaten my daughter in such a manner during such an important and traditional occasion! A good hostess wouldn’t stand for such behaviour!”

“A good hostess also would not stand for guests using slurs such as the one your daughter used in front of the assembled company, Alice,” Narcissa responded sharply. “In this instance, I will forgive your own daughter’s momentary lapse, just as I will forgive Miss Weasley’s understandably passionate defense of her good friend. I now consider this particular matter closed and we will move on with our discussion.”

“Yes, let’s move on,” Blaise agreed, his eyes sparking mischievously. “I want to know more about Muggle things. Have you got any with you now, Hermione?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Hermione answered. Reaching down to pick up her bag, she withdrew a small, rectangular object from it. Its face had a window of some sort and rows of buttons below, while the back was plain grey. “This is called a mobile. It’s a communication device.”

“How does it work?” Blaise asked, his face alight with interest.

“It allows Muggles to speak to each other or to send short written messages. It’s similar to owling or making a Floo call, but it’s faster and you don’t choke on ash.” Hermione touched a button on the phone and the glass window lit up. “If you like, Ginny and I can give you a demonstration. She has one, too.” 

Blaise agreed enthusiastically, and even Narcissa inclined her head. Hermione touched several buttons, and after a moment, a high pitched musical tune issued from Ginny’s person. Everyone else in the room jumped in shock.

“What’s that?” Mrs Parkinson squeaked, alarmed. 

“That’s my ringtone,” Ginny grinned. “‘Get This Party Started’ by Pink.” She took out her own phone, touched a button, and held the device to her ear. 

Hermione passed her phone to Blaise, indicating he should copy Ginny. “Hey, Blaise,” Ginny said. Blaise jerked in surprise, pulling the phone away to look at it in amazement, before bringing it back to his ear.

“Hey, red,” he said. “How do I get one of these?”

“You buy it from a Muggle electronics store,” Ginny replied, the phone still to her ear.

“Will you take me some time?” Blaise asked.

“Sure,” Ginny agreed. “But we should hang up now. It’s usually considered impolite to carry on a conversation on a cellphone in front of others in your group.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and pushed another button. 

Blaise held Hermione’s phone in front of his face and examined the buttons closely. “Which one do I press?” Hermione showed him how to disconnect the call, then returned the phone to her bag.

"Well, that was very interesting," Narcissa said thoughtfully. "How long have these... _ mobiles _ been in use in your world, Miss Granger?"

"Not long, really. Only since the 1980s, and back then they were very large and needed an even larger battery to power them. Prior to that, all telephones had to be connected to a central power source in order to work. We still use those, but they're becoming less popular as mobile technology improves. The first telephone was invented by a man named Alexander Graham Bell in 1876, and—" Hermione abruptly stopped talking and winced.

"Ginny! Did you just  _ kick _ me?" she hissed.

"Yes," the redheaded witch admitted. "But only to stop your lecture. They don't need to hear the entire history of the telephone."

Mrs Parkinson looked scandalised. It seemed to be her preferred expression. "A proper young witch does  _ not _ kick her companions under tables — or at all!" she exclaimed. "Did your mother teach you  _ nothing _ about decorum?"

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Madam, I'm the youngest of seven children, and the only girl. By the time I came along, Mum was so busy trying to keep six boys in line that she barely had time to sleep, let alone waste time trying to teach me how to be a  _ lady _ ." She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the thought.

"Besides, her brothers have been a terrible influence on her," Hermione teased. "I doubt  _ anyone _ could make a lady out of Ginny Weasley."

"I'd hex the tits off anyone who tried," Ginny agreed cheerfully. This time, all Mrs Parkinson could manage was a strangled gasp.

"Miss Weasley, I do beg of you — no vulgarity at the table," Narcissa admonished. 

“Sorry, Mrs Malfoy,” Ginny apologised, attempting and failing to hide her grin.

“Narcissa, I believe it’s time for Pansy and me to depart,” Mrs Parkinson announced, rising from the table.

“ _ What _ ? But—” Pansy began to argue, and her mother turned on her fiercely. 

“You’ve been bested at every task by the mud—” she glanced at Ginny and blanched before continuing. “By the  _ Muggleborn _ , and you’ve barely contributed to this farce of a  _ discussion _ .” The last word was said with a decided sneer that Draco did not consider very ladylike at all, despite the woman’s complaining about propriety just moments earlier.

“As you wish, Alice,” Narcissa replied, unaffected by the other woman’s display. “I thank you both for coming. I’ll have one of the elves show you out.” She conjured a small bell and rang it, summoning an elf.. Much to Draco’s amusement, Pansy was practically dragged out of the room by her glowering mother. He was glad they had left; he had no more interest in Pansy than he’d had in Lavender. However, that left one remaining problem. Hermione, by both her displayed skill and by default since the other witches had forfeited their places, was the clear winner. What that meant for the two of them, he did not know — and it was clear the remaining guests weren’t sure, either.

Hermione solved that problem by speaking up. “Mrs Malfoy, I’d appreciate if you would state your intent from this moment forward. I may be the last witch standing, but that doesn’t mean I’ll agree to any sort of arrangement. And I think Draco should have a say, too.” Turning to him, she asked, “What do you think of this whole affair? Do you agree with pureblood traditions such as this?” 

Her fierce look made him very aware that he should frame his next words carefully if he wanted to see her again. Which made things easy, really, given he had been opposed to the ceremony to begin with.

“Not in the least,” he replied. “In fact, I was against the idea.”

“Why?” she pressed.

“Because, as much as the idea of witches competing for me is amusing on some level, I’d prefer to choose my own bride and in my own time,” he stated.

Hermione hummed her agreement and focused once again on Narcissa, waiting for an answer to her previous question. 

“The next step was supposed to be a compatibility spell to see if Draco and the successful witch were a good match,” she answered. “But I don’t think it’s necessary.” She looked pointedly between Hermione and Draco, but said nothing further.

“I’d say they’re perfect for each other,” Blaise interjected.

Narcissa smiled. “I agree.” 

“I’ll thank you both to stay out of this,” Draco snapped. He was becoming annoyed all over again at having to bear witness to this farce. He glanced at Hermione, expecting her to agree, but she seemed distracted. Her brows were drawn together as she frowned gently at her hands, clearly thinking about something. 

Abruptly, she lifted her head and looked at Narcissa. “Mrs Malfoy—”

“Narcissa, dear, please.”

“Narcissa, then. Why did you  _ really _ invite me to this ceremony today? It wasn’t just to assess my compatibility for your son, was it?

Narcissa paused for a moment before answering. “No, you’re right. The truth is, I observed you interacting with Draco and your friends at the ball, and I liked you. You appeared to be an intelligent, independent and confident witch who is not afraid to speak her mind, and your contributions today have proved just that.”

Draco watched his mother closely, certain that was not the full answer. Hermione seemed to think the same. She folded her hands on the table and continued to stare at Narcissa expectantly.

“I was also being truthful earlier when I said my previous perceptions about Muggleborns had been challenged,” Narcissa continued after a moment. “It’s true that I, as are many who are born into magical families, was raised to believe Muggles and Muggleborns were inferior to purebloods. I never stopped to question what I had been told until I heard you challenge the attitudes I had passed on to Draco, Miss Granger.”

“I see,” Hermione replied evenly. “And what is your opinion of my kind now, Mrs Malfoy?” 

Narcissa had the good grace to blush. “It is clear that the information I was given was incorrect,” she admitted. “Your magical abilities are impressive, and coupled with your intelligence and wit, your powers clearly surpassed those of Miss Parkinson and Miss Brown, despite the fact they are both from pureblood families.”

Draco snorted indelicately. “That’s an understatement,” he said, causing Ginny and Blaise to snicker.

Hermione ignored Draco’s comment and gave Narcissa a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs Malfoy. I appreciate your honesty. Now—” she sat up, returning to her previous businesslike manner. “What happens next?”

“That’s entirely up to you and Draco,” Narcissa replied. “In other circumstances, I would have begun negotiations with your parents in regards to arranging the details of an engagement. However, it would be enough for me if the two of you would consider spending some time together without any obligations or expectations on either of you.”

Draco eyed his mother suspiciously. It wasn’t like her to give up control so easily. Glancing at Hermione, he was amused to notice she seemed to feel the same way. Although he definitely wanted to spend some time with the curly-haired witch, he didn’t want to admit it out loud, because that would mean admitting Narcissa was right, and he  _ hated _ giving her the satisfaction. 

“I’m pleased to hear it,” Hermione said after a few moments. She stood. “Now, I do hope you’ll forgive us, but Ginny and I should be leaving. It’s getting late, and I need to check on the project I’m working on.”

“Of course,” Narcissa replied, smiling graciously as Ginny rose from the table. “Thank you so much for coming, both of you.”

“Draco and I will show the ladies out, Narcissa. No need to summon an elf.” Blaise got to his feet, casting a meaningful glance in Draco’s direction. With a barely restrained sigh, he followed suit. Not that he  _ didn’t _ want to show Hermione out, mind — it was just that  _ anything _ he did could potentially be interpreted by his mother as Draco pursuing her.

“Thank you, boys,” Narcissa murmured. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

“Good afternoon,” Hermione and Ginny chorused as they left the room.

When they reached the gates at the entrance of the manor, Draco glanced furtively around, looking for signs his mother or any of her personal elves might be lurking about to observe and eavesdrop. Since he didn’t see anything suspicious, he leaned closer to Hermione and said, “I’m  _ so _ sorry about all of this. I swear I had no idea what she was up to until the last minute, and I was powerless to stop it.”

Hermione gave him a calculating look, as if trying to determine whether he was trying to misdirect her.

“He really didn’t,” Blaise interjected. “He got really shitty when he learned about this whole thing. You should have seen him pout!”

“I bet Draco has an  _ adorable _ pout,” Ginny teased.

“I do  _ not _ !” Draco insisted, trying to scowl.

“See?” Ginny exclaimed, giggling. “He’s doing it now! Hermione, don’t you think that’s the cutest expression?”

“Hmmm,” Hermione said noncommittally. Her lips twitched, and Draco was certain she was trying to bite back a laugh. Realising she might not be terribly impressed by his childish antics, he schooled his features into something resembling a more neutral expression.

“So,” Blaise interrupted, rubbing his hands together briskly. “I propose a double date sometime in the near future.”

Draco tightened his jaw. He had wanted to try and get Hermione alone, to propose dinner for just the two of them, but now his meddlesome friend had probably gone and ruined it.

“Yes!” Ginny squealed, grabbing Hermione’s arm. “That sounds perfect! You’ll agree, won’t you, ‘Mione?"

"Um," Hermione said, looking at Draco with uncertainty. 

Abruptly, he decided he would not only encourage the double date, but he would be pleasant and engaging; any chance to get to talk to her outside of the watchful and interfering eye of his mother was a good thing.

"I agree," he said smoothly. Noticing Blaise's expression of surprise, he mentally counted up a point in his favour. "How about Thursday?"

"Two days?" Blaise grumbled. "I was going to suggest tonight."

“I really do need to work on my project,” Hermione said apologetically, shaking her head. “It will take up my whole evening.”

“May I ask what your project is?” Draco asked. “Is it a potion?”

“Yes,” Hermione nodded. “It’s still not perfected though, and not yet patented, so I’m afraid I can’t go into any detail about it, other than to say I hope it will benefit the magical population.”

“Ahh, a humanitarian?” Blaise asked. “You should tell Narcissa. She’s quite involved in philanthropic causes. She would be sure to support you.”

“Will you  _ stop _ trying to get my mother involved?” Draco grumbled. “You’re almost as bad as she is!”

“Thursday, then?” Ginny interrupted, before any bickering could start.

“Yes, Thursday,” the ebony-skinned wizard grinned, taking Ginny’s hand and kissing her knuckles once more. 

“Thursday,” Draco and Hermione agreed simultaneously, their eyes meeting. He noticed a slight flush on her cheeks.

The small group exchanged farewells, and the women Apparated away with a pop.  
  


* * *

  
When Hermione and Ginny arrived at their inn, they went straight up to their room to change. Hermione sighed in relief as she shed her formal dress and robes. “I hate these clothes,” she grumbled. “They’re so…  _ stuffy _ and restricting.” She threw on a pair of trousers and a shirt, rolling the sleeves up to her elbows before cancelling the  _ stasis _ charm on her potion and stirring it carefully.

“How is it looking?” Ginny asked.

“Better,” Hermione replied. “It needs to steep overnight before I add the last of the shaved mandrake, and then another day after that. If all goes well, it will be ready for analysis. Then I’ll need to replicate it several times to ensure I get the same results before it can progress to the testing phase.”

“How are you going for supplies?”

“I’m low on almost everything,” Hermione confessed. “Thank goodness that the next lot of funding is due from the Ministry next week.”

For the rest of the afternoon, she tended to the potion while Ginny read. Hermione was just about to suggest they go down for dinner when there was a tapping at the window. She crossed the room to let the owl in and retrieved the parchment attached to its leg. Turning it over, she saw it was from the Ministry. Opening it, she began to read. The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and she staggered to her bed, dropping heavily onto the mattress.

“‘Mione? What’s wrong?” Ginny asked in alarm. “You’re as white as a sheet! What does it say?”

Hermione lowered the paper to her lap and looked over at her friend. “The Ministry has cancelled my funding, effective immediately,” she said hollowly.


	4. Chapter 4

Hermione stormed into the Ministry first thing the next morning, determined to get answers. Taking the lifts to the fourth level, she tapped her foot impatiently as the ancient cage moved her through the building’s bowels. The moment the doors opened, she was flying up the hallway towards the door at the end, which led to the research department. Flinging it open, Hermione stepped over the threshold and narrowed her eyes at Crouch’s receptionist, Betty.

“Where is he?” she bit out, her hair crackling in her fury.

“H—Hermione!” Betty squeaked, her eyes wide in surprise and shock. “What—er, what brings you here so early in the morning?”

“ _ Crouch _ brings me here!” Hermione growled. “Is he in?”

Betty gulped. “He is. But he asked not to be disturbed. I could make you an appoint—”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Hermione crossed the small room, opening the door that led to Crouch’s office and barging through it. The head of research looked up in surprise at the sudden disturbance and frowned in disapproval. “Betty, I  _ told _ you I did not wish to be—” he blinked at Hermione, momentarily confused. “Oh. Miss Granger. I don’t recall us having an appointment.” He pulled a small notebook towards him and quickly flipped to a page, consulting it.

“We  _ don’t _ have an appointment, Mr Crouch. But I’m afraid this is rather urgent,” Hermione replied, folding her arms across her chest. “Would you care to explain why you cut my funding so suddenly?”

“Ahh.” Crouch folded his hands together over his desk and looked up at her with an indifferent expression. “I reviewed your criteria and decided your experiments did not meet the threshold for eligibility. Therefore, you do not qualify for funding.”

“I’m sorry—I don’t meet the  _ threshold _ ?” Hermione repeated in disbelief. “Since  _ when _ ? My  _ research _ — not simple  _ experiments _ , as you call it — is of importance to the wizarding population! You yourself agreed that the declining magical births are a pressing issue, and so did other heads of departments!”

“What other heads of departments think is irrelevant!” Crouch snapped. “I determine who receives funding, not them!”

Hermione blinked at him. “But that’s not true. You know it isn’t. You may get principal say in funding decisions, but ultimately you still need to report to the board for final approval to accept or reject funding proposals, as was the case with my research.”

“That process will change,” Crouch promised, unrepentant. “It’s time the Ministry stopped meddling in my work and let me carry on with things.” 

For the first time, Hermione began to wonder if everything was all right with the Head of Magical Research. He didn’t seem any less ornery and impatient than usual, and his resentment at not having full control over funding decisions was well known, but still…

“Now, Miss Granger — if you’ll be so kind as to leave my office, I would be most grateful,” Crouch added, shaking Hermione out of her musings. She eyed the man carefully. He looked and sounded like himself, and his mannerisms had not changed, but she was becoming suspicious something was amiss.

“We’re not done, Crouch,” she threatened.

“We are for now,” Crouch answered, turning back to his paperwork and dismissing her with an impatient flick of his wrist.

Huffing, Hermione turned on her heel and left his office, muttering to herself. As she entered the reception area, she abruptly connected with something solid. “Ooof!” she grunted, stumbling backwards. A hand shot out to steady her.

“Oh! Excuse me, miss! I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to nearly knock you over! Are you alright?”

Hermione looked up into the face of the speaker and blinked in surprise. Fancy running into him  _ here, _ of all places. “No, It’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He smiled at her and extended his hand. “Tom Riddle.”

“Hermione Granger.” She returned the gesture, looking politely up at him.

“Miss Granger, I don’t mean to intrude, but—” Riddle paused, looking slightly embarrassed, but determined to carry on nonetheless. “Well, the door was open and I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation with Mr Crouch. I’m very sorry to hear you’ve lost the funding for your project. It sounded interesting.”

“It  _ was _ interesting,” Hermione lamented. “But unless I can appeal to the board and have his decision overturned, the wizarding community will never benefit from it.”

“Your project was aimed at improving the magical community?” Riddle repeated, his face alight with curiosity. “I have an enormous amount of respect for researchers whose goal is the greater good, instead of profit or fame. Will you tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Riddle, but the details are sensitive. I can’t easily discuss them at this stage. Crouch may have attempted to cut me off, but as far as I’m concerned, I still have an agreement with the Ministry. Part of our agreement involves non-disclosure until such a time as my research is finalised and the product has been approved for production.”

“I understand. Please accept my apologies. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“That’s quite all right.” Hermione smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to put my argument together and get myself into the next board meeting.”

“Of course,” Riddle said, stepping aside to let her pass. “I applaud you for your tenacity and wish you good luck.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied. “It was lovely to meet you. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Miss Granger,” Riddle called as she exited the reception area.

Once she was in the hallway, Hermione hurried to the lifts, casting a quick spell under her breath to alert her if anyone attempted to follow. Her mind was racing. She had to get home and tell Ginny about Crouch’s behaviour and her encounter with Riddle and update the King on this new development.  
  


* * *

  
Tom watched the Granger girl hurry away. He had not been surprised at her evasiveness in regards to the project. From what he’d gathered about her so far — and what he had been able to find out was frustratingly minimal — she was highly ethical and methodical. However, he  _ had _ been surprised at her determination to get her way. 

He’d assumed she would defer to those in authority without much argument and quietly accept Crouch’s decision, but instead she had vowed to go over his head and push the board to have her funding reinstated immediately. It was  _ most _ inconvenient. Now he would have to  _ Imperius  _ the rest of the board, and quickly. They were scheduled to meet in just three days, and he seriously doubted anyone would be able to prevent Hermione Granger from speaking in defence of her research project. Shaking his head in resignation, Tom continued on into Crouch’s office, subtly drawing his wand as he went, and shut the door behind him.  
  


* * *

  
“Ginny!”

“Hermione? How did it go? Did you kick Crouch’s arse?” Ginny looked up as Hermione rushed through the door to their room, shutting it firmly behind her.

“Not quite,” Hermione admitted. “But it was an interesting meeting. Listen—” she launched into a description of what had transpired during her visit to the Ministry, beginning with Crouch’s adamance that she would no longer receive funding, followed by his odd comments when she mentioned the board, and finally her encounter with Riddle.

“How interesting that he was there, seeing Crouch,” Ginny mused. “Do you think he’s blackmailing or bribing him for something, too?”

“It seems doubtful,” Hermione frowned. “Crouch is a grumpy, impatient old bastard but he’s also a stickler for rules and protocol, so I can’t see him accepting bribes. And he’s so boring and bureaucratic I can’t imagine him ever doing something that anyone could use to blackmail him with.”

“Maybe,” Ginny said doubtfully. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep a close eye on him, especially if he’s acting out of character.”

“Yes, it really was strange,” Hermione agreed. “The more I think about it, the less I like it. Crouch hates the board having a say, but it doesn’t seem like him to directly try to undermine them like that. It goes against procedure.” Moving to her bag, she reached inside it, summoning a piece of her spelled parchment and a quill. She quickly wrote a coded message and watched the letters bleed into the paper and disappear.

“What are you going to do about the funding issue?” Ginny asked.

“Approach the board,” Hermione replied. “They meet in three days. I need to put all my results together so I can come up with a strong presentation and convince them to overrule Crouch’s decision.” 

“I still can’t believe he said your work didn’t meet the eligibility level! What a load of crap!” Ginny exclaimed.

“Tell me about it,” Hermione groused. “Riddle was certainly interested, though. I get the feeling he’ll pop up again.”

“You fed him just enough to catch his attention, didn’t you?” Ginny asked, grinning.

“Just a little tidbit to pique his interest.” Hermione nodded. “If he starts hanging around, we might be able to learn more about him.”

“Nicely done.” The redheaded witch grinned. “Now, let’s get your data together.” 

They worked solidly until dinnertime when a tap on the window disturbed their concentration. Ginny went to let the owl in, feeding it a treat, and quickly read the note.

“It’s from Blaise and Draco,” she announced. “Suggesting a new restaurant that’s just opened up in Wizarding London. They’ve booked a reservation for six pm tomorrow.”

Hermione shook her head in negation. “I’ll have to cancel, I’ve too much to do now. But you go on, Gin. Send my apologies to Draco. Tell him I’ll meet him another time.”

“Oh,  _ hell _ no,” Ginny exclaimed. “You are  _ not _ backing out of this date! Don’t use Crouch as an excuse, because it won’t work.”

“But—” 

“No buts. We’re going, even if it means I have to put you under the  _ Imperius  _ to do it!”

“Fine, fine.” Hermione relented. “I’ll go on the Merlin-be-damned date. Now, can we go eat and then get back to work?”  
  


* * *

  
The following day, Ginny spent half the day flitting about their room, rummaging through their clothes and putting together various combinations before rejecting each and trying another. Hermione tried to continue putting together her argument for the board meeting, but eventually gave up after the umpteenth time Ginny interrupted her to hold one outfit or another against her body.

Just before six, Ginny and Hermione Apparated to the new restaurant to meet Draco and Blaise. Ginny bounced on her heels in excitement. “I can’t believe we’re eating here! How in Circe’s name did they get reservations? They’re fully booked  _ months _ in advance!”

“One of the advantages of being part of a distinguished and wealthy family line,” piped up a voice from behind them. The women turned to greet Blaise, who was approaching them with a smile, Draco close behind him. Blaise took Ginny’s hand, placing a soft kiss upon her knuckles. “All Draco and I had to do was walk in and ask for a table for the following evening. Once the Maître d’ realised who we were, he was  _ very _ accommodating.”

Hermione restrained the urge to roll her eyes at Blaise’s unapologetic bragging. “Shall we go in?” she suggested, offering Draco a small smile. She would never say it out loud, but he looked very handsome dressed in a pale green turtleneck and pressed grey trousers.

Draco smiled back, offering her his arm, and she allowed him to lead her into the restaurant, Blaise and Ginny following after. The Maître d, bowing obsequiously, showed them to their table, handed them menus and quietly withdrew.

The small group sat in awkward silence for several minutes, until a server came to take their drink orders. After he had gone, Blaise blurted out, “How is your research going, Hermione?” 

She scowled and lifted her menu higher to hide her face. “Don’t ask.” 

“What happened?” Draco asked, completely ignoring her instruction. 

Hermione sighed. “I really don’t want to talk about it,” she answered. Attempting to change the subject, she added, “What looks good? I can’t decide.”

“Crouch cut her funding unexpectedly,” Ginny explained. “Hermione, it doesn’t need to be kept a secret since you’re going before the board about it.”

“He cut your funding? Why?” Draco pressed. 

“I don’t know,” Hermione replied, lowering the menu to the table, irritation evident in her tone. “He just said I don’t meet the criteria.”

“How do you not meet it now when you did previously?”

Hermione shook her head. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

“And you’re going before the board to appeal their decision?” Blaise checked.

“That’s the thing,” Hermione said. “It seems Crouch made the decision on his own without consulting or getting support from the board to do it.”

“But that’s not proper procedure.” Draco frowned. “My father was on the board before he passed away. Any changes to existing funding schemes have to be voted on, just as with initial applications.”

“And that’s why I’m going before the board,” Hermione replied firmly. “I don’t know what Crouch thinks he’s doing, but I intend to have my funding reinstated.”

“Good for you,” Blaise said, holding up his glass in a salute. “Don’t let them slow your progress.”

The server returned to ask if they were ready to order, and the group spent the next few minutes selecting from the menu. Eventually, conversation moved to lighter subjects. At some point, their food arrived, and in between bites, they spent the rest of the evening exchanging stories about their respective childhoods. Hermione, to her embarrassment, found herself the centre of attention as Blaise and Draco begged to hear about what it was like to grow up in the Muggle world and the differences between that and the wizarding world.

“How did the two of you meet?” Blaise asked Ginny, indicating her and Hermione.

“We went to Beauxbatons together and shared a dorm,” Ginny answered. “My mum wanted me to attend an all-girls’ school, and Hermione just liked the idea of attending school in France, so she convinced her parents to send her there instead of Hogwarts.”

“I hear they have an excellent potions programme,” Draco commented.

“Yes,” Hermione answered, smiling. “Madame Bouchard is the most accomplished female potions master in Europe. No small feat in a field dominated by men.”

“‘Mione, don’t start on feminism,” Ginny warned with a smirk. “You’ll just confuse them. Wizards have no idea of the concept.”

“What’s feminism?” Blaise asked. “It sounds sexy.”

Hermione attempted to look stern but failed, a snort of amusement escaping her. “Feminism is a Muggle concept aimed at promoting equality between the sexes,” she explained. “It encourages society to break away from traditional values that restrict women to domestic and child-rearing duties and restrict their career opportunities.”

The men looked back at her, perplexed. “Told you,” Ginny said triumphantly. “Look, you’ve broken their brains.”

“Well, that’s just in their nature,” Hermione grinned, winking at her friend. “Women breaking their shackles is a shocking idea for men to comprehend.”

“Are you calling us incapable of understanding new concepts?” Blaise asked, pretending to be affronted. “I’ll have you know, I’m  _ perfectly _ capable of doing that. You just have to use a sporting analogy of some sort, and I’ll pick it up easily.” Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look and laughed.

“If it’s a sporting analogy you want, ask Ginny,” Hermione said, as the server approached once again to take their empty plates and offer the dessert menu. “I haven’t the slightest interest in the subject, but she could recite the entire history of Quidditch and name almost every team and who they play for.”

They all picked up the small cards listing the desserts on offer and Hermione’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the name of her favourite treat — tiramisu topped with whipped cream. When their orders arrived, Hermione took a small bite and moaned in appreciation. “Morgana, it’s beautiful! I could eat two servings!”

Soon their bowls had been scraped clean and they were leaning back in their chairs, replete. “I’m so glad you two picked out this restaurant,” Ginny gushed. “This place is amazing!”

Hermione agreed. “Yes, it’s fantastic.”

However, it was time to leave. As they were standing out on the street exchanging goodbyes, Draco asked, “Do you mind if I attend the board meeting on Saturday, in solidarity?”

“Oh,” Hermione said, surprised and flattered. “That’s very kind of you to offer, but you don’t have to do that.”

“No, I want to,” Draco replied firmly. “I want to hear what Crouch has to say for himself and what the board has to say about his actions.”

“Well If you like,” Hermione answered. “Thank you. It will be nice to have the extra support.”

“I’ll come, too,” Blaise decided. Turning to Ginny, he added, “Will you save us a couple of seats, red?”

“Course,” Ginny grinned. “I’ll cast a minor Blasting Curse over them, so that if anyone else tries to sit there, they’ll end up with a tender arse.”

“Ohh, you’re fierce,” Blaise said admiringly.

“I certainly am,” Ginny agreed. “You have to be when you’re the only girl and have six older brothers!”

“Right, well, we’ll see you Saturday,” Draco confirmed. “Thank you for a very enjoyable evening. I haven’t felt the urge to be a snarky twat once.”

“That’s saying something,” Blaise chimed in with a smirk. “Being a snarky twat is second nature to him.”

Hermione huffed in amusement. “So I’ve noticed. I had a good time, too.”

“That’s also saying something,” Ginny interjected. “Normally, it’s almost impossible for her to have fun in social situations.” She laughed as Hermione elbowed her in the ribs.

“Well, goodnight.” Draco leaned in to kiss Hermione lightly on the cheek, making her blush. Blaise, on the other hand, went for Ginny’s lips, placing a lingering kiss there and causing her to giggle.

Turning, the women made their way to the Apparition point. She couldn’t understand why, but even though they had just parted, Hermione was already longing to see Draco again, her anticipation nearly palpable . She had never felt quite this strongly about any wizard. It was strange, but not unpleasant.  
  


* * *

  
On Friday evening, Tom returned home, feeling exhausted and irritable. It had taken a great deal of his magical energy to  _ Imperius  _ all eight board members, plus strengthen his control over Crouch, over the previous two days. But, he conceded, it couldn’t be helped. Not if he wanted to force Miss Granger’s hand and leave her vulnerable to his powers of persuasion once the board rejected her appeal. He was going to have control over that potion and patent it himself, no matter what. And, of course, he would take Miss Granger as a bride in the bargain.

Tom poured himself a glass of Firewhisky and sat in his favourite chair beside the fire, finally able to relax. He would spend the rest of the evening clearing his mind and preparing for tomorrow. It was bound to be a spectacular upset, and he needed to be ready to swoop in and save the day.

  
On Saturday, Draco and Blaise arrived at the Ministry slightly before the board meeting was due to start and made their way to the chambers where the hearings were always held. When they entered the room, they immediately noticed Ginny’s red hair in the public gallery and began heading towards her. Ahead of them, a middle-aged wizard strode along the row she was sitting in and attempted to sit beside her, his eyes roving up and down her form as he lowered himself to the seat. Moments later he jumped up again with a small yelp, clutching his backside and hopping up and down. He shot Ginny a glare and hobbled away in search of another, safer spot.

“You really  _ did _ set a Blasting Curse,” Blaise whispered as he reached the redhead. “Brilliant!” 

Ginny grinned up at him and flicked her wand to remove the spell so he and Draco could settle in beside her. “Three different wizards have leered at me and tried to sit down, only to suddenly realise they have urgent business elsewhere,” she laughed.

“I like you,” Draco said. “Can we be friends?”

“I’ll think about it,” Ginny replied with a wink. “Oh, look. There’s Hermione.” She indicated the door. The curly haired witch had just entered with a folder under her arm and sat down on the other side of the room, where the people wishing to be heard by the board were waiting. 

“When is she scheduled to speak?” Draco asked.

“First,” Ginny answered. “She’s on good terms with the secretary because she brews her a potion to manage her chronic migraines. Hermione managed to get the agenda rearranged so she could present before they start getting bored and letting their minds wander.”

“Attention! Attention please!” the chair of the meeting announced officiously. “This meeting is now called to order.”

The meeting got underway, and after general business, it was finally time for the speakers’ portion. Hermione was summoned to stand before the board members. “The board recognises Hermione Granger,” the chair announced.

Hermione began her impassioned speech, handing out the summary sheets she and Ginny had worked on that outlined her research so far. Of course, it didn’t go into detail about what the research involved exactly, since it was an open public meeting, but Hermione spoke just enough that it piqued everyone’s interest. 

“In closing, sirs, to deny me the funding I had previously been awarded would drastically affect my research, which in turn would be detrimental to the magical community. I implore you to overturn Bartemius Crouch’s decision and open an investigation into his deviation from Ministry protocol. Thank you.” She returned to her seat amongst applause and murmurs from the gallery.

After several other speakers presented their cases, the board discussed the matters to be addressed in low voices, before straightening to face the room once again to impart their decisions.

“Miss Granger — we have reviewed your appeal, and the evidence you have presented to us. It has merit, of that we are in agreement. However, we have examined the criteria more closely and have come to the conclusion that Mr Crouch was correct in his decision. You no longer qualify for ministry funding. There will be no further discussion in regards to your funding and we wish you the best of luck for the future. This matter is now closed.”

“ _ WHAT?” _ Hermione shouted in outrage, jumping to her feet. “This is preposterous!”

The public sitting in the gallery began muttering discontentedly. They had sensed Hermione was doing something that had the potential to be groundbreaking, and they weren’t happy about it being thwarted. Draco glanced about, their restlessness making him uneasy. “What should we do?” he asked Ginny, concerned.

“We should grab Hermione and get her out of here before she hexes the entire board and gets arrested,” Ginny said, standing. “Come on.” They followed her as she eased her way out of the gallery and across to the room, where Hermione was engaged in a futile attempt to change the board’s mind. Ginny grasped her firmly by the elbow and hauled her from the room. “Come on, ‘Mione. We’ll just have to re-think our strategy.”

“Fuckers,” Hermione growled, allowing herself to be led. “I hope they all get ball rash.”

Draco snorted with laughter at her comment, earning himself a glare from the irate witch that made his grin shrivel up and disappear.

Once out on the street, Blaise immediately suggested a drink at the Leaky Cauldron. “You need it, Hermione,” he argued. To Draco’s surprise, she agreed. He was even more surprised when, after arriving, she ordered a round of shots for them all and drank two herself, one after the other.

“Well, this isn’t quite what I had in mind,” Blaise said, his lips quirking in amusement. “But I’m all for getting pissed. I’ll order us some food.”

Several drinks later, Hermione was still quietly seething. Seeing her beautiful features twisted into a scowl gave Draco the urge to go and hex Crouch and all the board members himself. With a few glasses of Firewhisky under his belt, he finally worked up the courage to say what he had been wanting to say since the board’s decision had been announced.

“Hermione,” he began. She looked at him sharply and he almost lost his nerve at her wild expression. She looked like a lioness whose cubs had been threatened, and he supposed that in a way, this was a fair analogy. Her project, although he still did not know the full details, had been her child, something she had nurtured and protected, and it had been snatched away from her.

“What, Draco?” she snapped, when he didn’t continue.

“Um,” he stuttered. “I—that is to say, we—Mother and I—would be more than happy to fund your research in place of the Ministry.”

Hermione squinted at him. “I beg your pardon?” she said, her words slightly slurred.

“I would like to fund your research,” Draco repeated. “I know Mother would agree. She really does like you and she was impressed by your potions skills. Please let us help you.”

“I—wow. That’s a really generous offer, Draco—” She bit her lip and stared down into her glass.

“But—?” Draco prompted, his heart sinking as he anticipated she was about to refuse.

“I—it’s just that—I wouldn’t feel comfortable accepting so much money from someone I know personally,” she explained. “We’re becoming friends, and when there’s already a relationship, it just adds pressure, and—” 

“What she’s trying to say,” interjected Ginny, “is that she likes you, and she hates feeling indebted to someone she likes.”

“ _ Ginny! _ ” Hermione hissed. “Shhhhh!”

“Wait— you like me?” Draco repeated, a grin appearing over his face.

“I—um—yes, I suppose I do,” Hermione admitted, her cheeks flaming pink.

“She admits it!” Ginny crowed. “Finally! All it took were a few glasses of Firewhisky. Take note for the future, Draco — if you want Hermione to give you an honest answer, get her pissed. At least until you’ve known her as long as I have.” She winked at Draco cheekily.

“Can we change the subject now?” Hermione groused, to everyone’s amusement.

“Yes, let’s go back to the funding discussion,” Ginny suggested. “Come on, Hermione — you know you need the money to continue, and Draco is happy to help. Can’t you make an exception this once? For the greater good?”

“The greater good,” agreed Blaise.

Hermione went back to chewing on her bottom lip, appearing to war with herself over how to answer. Finally, she shook her head regretfully and sighed. “Could I think about it, please? I would prefer to try and find an impartial sponsor, but if I can’t, I would be open to considering your offer.”

“Of course,” Draco agreed immediately. Hey, it was better than a flat-out no, right? “You can approach me anytime and I’ll be happy to come to an agreement.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. 

“So what now?” Blaise asked.

“First, I’m going to find out what’s going on with the board,” Hermione answered. “One department head acting out of character and going against protocol is one thing, but for the entire board to agree with Crouch despite evidence to the contrary and back his decision is another. It’s suspicious, and I intend to find out what’s really going on.”

“You think someone got to them first and influenced their vote?” Blaise checked, frowning. “Like a bribe, or using some form of coercion?”

“It seems likely,” Hermione answered. “But we don’t have any evidence yet to support the theory.”

“Crouch, too?” Draco asked.

“It would make sense.”

“Any idea who it might be?” Blaise added.

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a glance. “There are a few people who could possibly be behind it,” Hermione hedged. “But again, we don’t have enough information to indicate a likely culprit.”

Draco frowned slightly. He suspected that the women  _ did _ in fact have at least one likely culprit in mind and just didn’t want to tell him who it was. For the first time since he and Blaise had met Hermione and Ginny, he wondered what they were really doing in this part of England. He suspected it was more than just Hermione’s research. He would talk to Blaise about his own theory later. “Hm. Well, keep me updated and let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” he said.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind. Do you have the same connections with Ministry officials that your father did?”

“Not as many,” Draco replied. “But quite a few, regardless.”

“Excellent. That may be useful,” Hermione acknowledged. She looked at her watch and hid a yawn behind her hand. “I think I’m going to have to call it a night. I’ll have lots to do tomorrow. You coming or staying, Gin?” She turned to her friend questioningly.

“I’ll come,” Ginny decided.

The women said their goodnights and left. Draco immediately turned to Blaise to share his theory.

“Hmm,” Blaise hummed thoughtfully. “I wondered that, myself. Hermione could work on her potion anywhere. Why does she suddenly need to be staying in Oxfordshire to do it?”

“They’re up to something, I’m sure of it,” Draco reiterated. “And Hermione’s funding being cut so suddenly could be linked in some way to whatever they’re doing behind the scenes.”

“Oh! Maybe they’re secret agents!” Blaise exclaimed. “Out to assassinate some evil mastermind.”

Draco snorted. “I think that’s a bit far-fetched, Blaise. I doubt that’s the real reason they’re here.”

Blaise just shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s fun to think about.”

  
The next day, Hermione and Ginny went to breakfast at a nearby cafe instead of the inn so they could talk without being overheard by the other tenants. Nice as they seemed, the tenants and locals were frightfully nosy at times and they couldn’t risk anyone else hearing that they planned to investigate the board.

They had just finished eating when Ginny flicked her eyes over Hermione’s shoulder, then said quietly, “Knave’s here.” 

Hermione blinked twice to indicate she understood, and casually picked up her teacup to take a leisurely sip. Moments later, she sensed his presence.

“Good morning, Miss Granger,” Riddle greeted her cheerfully.

“Hello, Mr Riddle,” she smiled, turning to him. “How lovely to see you again.”

“Please, call me Tom,” he replied with a winning smile of his own. Turning to Ginny he added, “Hello. I’m Tom Riddle.”

“Ginny Weasley. Lovely to meet you.”

“And you,” he replied politely. “I’m terribly sorry to interrupt you ladies while you’re dining, but — Miss Granger — I have a proposition for you, and I’m hoping you’ll accept.”

“A proposition?” Hermione repeated, schooling her features into an expression of polite curiosity. 

“May I sit?” Riddle asked, indicating an empty chair at their table.

“Of course.” Hermione indicated the seat, and he took it with an apologetic smile.

“Miss Granger, I was at the Ministry yesterday and happened to enquire after your appeal. I was very sorry and surprised to hear the board rejected it.”

Hermione sighed and looked despondently down at her plate. “Yes, I was rather shocked, to say the least. It’s kind of you to offer your commiserations. I’m at a loss as to what to do next.”

“Well, that’s what my proposal is about,” Riddle said. “Miss Granger, I would like to offer you a loan to fund the remainder of your research.” Ginny and Hermione gasped in unison.

“Mr Riddle, that’s  _ very _ kind, but I’m afraid the research is quite costly,” Hermione replied. “Some of the ingredients are expensive and difficult to acquire and I’m still in the experimental phase. The potion isn’t ready to advance to a testing phase yet. You don’t even know the full details of what the research involves.”

“Money is no object,” Riddle argued, waving a hand dismissively. “I have plenty of Galleons and often provide financial assistance to those in need of it. My main concern is the same as yours — that the magical community is not disadvantaged. If you decide to accept my offer, you can fill me in at that time.”

“What would your terms be?” Hermione asked.

Reaching into his robes, Riddle pulled out a scroll. “This is one of my standard contracts. The interest rate is small and you would not need to begin repayments until a month after signing, giving you plenty of time to plan your finances accordingly.”

Hermione took the offered parchment and unrolled it, scanning her eyes over the contents. “Do you mind if I take it away and read it more carefully?” she asked.

“Not at all.” Riddle smiled. “In fact, I commend you for being thorough. It gives me confidence that you will succeed in your work.”

“Thank you. Shall we meet back here tomorrow morning?” Hermione suggested, tucking the scroll away in her bag. “I’ll give you my answer then.”

“Certainly, Miss Granger. I do hope you’ll accept my offer. Please excuse me, ladies — I’ll leave you to your tea.” Riddle got up, gave a small bow, and strode away. 

  
Later, safely ensconced back in their room, Hermione and Ginny carefully examined the contract. It  _ looked _ like a standard loan agreement, but given what they knew about Riddle’s methods and the number of borrowers who had fallen afoul of him, they were disinclined to take it at face value. Several spells and charms failed to reveal anything outwardly untoward, but there were many ways to manipulate or curse a contract.

“What do you think?” Hermione asked.

“It’s a perfect way to get close to him,” Ginny said. “In fact, you couldn’t have asked for a better setup. You can play the lendee and gather anything he says or does as evidence.”

“I’m certain he has something to do with my funding being cut,” Hermione theorised. “This whole thing is just a little  _ too _ convenient.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Ginny agreed. “He just  _ happens _ to show up when you go to confront Crouch, then he asks around and finds out the board rejected your appeal, and immediately after he just  _ happens _ to get the idea to offer to fund the remainder of your research.”

Hermione cast another spell over the parchment and found nothing. “I’m going to agree to his offer,” she decided. “But we can’t risk imparting the information to the King via code. We’ll have to arrange to meet the other pieces.” 

“I’ll send the message. You make the untraceable copies of that contract,” Ginny instructed. She went to Hermione’s bag and summoned the parchment, quickly requesting to meet.  _ Pawn to G-5. _ The words bled into the paper, leaving the sheet clean and blank once more.

Meanwhile, Hermione cast a spell of the King’s invention, which made exact copies of a document without leaving any magical trace, so that anyone checking it later would be none the wiser that duplicates existed. It had come in handy during several investigations.

A short time later, a reply was sent.  _ Knight to C-3. _

“Let’s go,” Hermione said. She and Ginny made their way to the outskirts of the village. 

“Five jumps?” Ginny checked.

“Better make it six,” Hermione replied.

  
Several hours later, the two women returned, with their team fully updated and ready to act at a moment’s notice. They were certain that the contract with Riddle would give them what they needed to finally stop him. Now Hermione and Ginny just needed to begin investigating the board members and their associates to try and determine any links between them and their target.

“We’ll start with the board secretary and the members’ personal assistants,” Hermione decided. “We’ve already got the rapport with Alanna thanks to me supplying her with the migraine potion, and she’ll be able to help us get in with the others.”  
  


* * *

  
The next morning, Hermione and Ginny prepared for their meeting with Riddle. “We need to be on our guard,” Hermione cautioned as she secreted the copy of the contract within a hidden compartment in her travel case. “Keep your Occlumency shields up, just in case.”

“Right,” Ginny agreed. 

Once they were in the cafe, they ordered food and tea, then struck up a normal conversation. To the casual observer, they would appear to be two young women with few, if any, cares in the world. Internally, they were ready for any eventuality. The game had begun.


	5. Chapter 5

Tom stepped into the cafe and scanned the room. His target was easy to spot, thanks to the Weasley girl's bright red hair. He scrutinised them for a moment, trying to gauge their mood. The two witches seemed happy and carefree, chatting away and smiling as they enjoyed the remnants of their breakfast.

He squared his shoulders and strode confidently over to their table. The Granger girl spotted him first and beamed as he approached. "Good morning, ladies," Tom greeted as he reached the table. 

"Good morning, Mr Riddle," they chorused.

"I insist you call me Tom. None of this stuffy 'Mr Riddle' foolishness," he replied affably. "May I join you?"

"Please do," the Granger girl invited. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Thank you, but I'm afraid I can't stay too long. I have another urgent appointment," he answered apologetically. "Have you given any thought to my offer?"

"I have, and I would be pleased and honoured to receive your help," she said, her eyes lighting up in happiness. Tom smirked inwardly to himself. He could practically  _ taste _ that patent. All the same, he knew he must proceed carefully. She was a bit smarter than his usual targets—although not smart enough to realise his true intentions until it was too late, he was sure—but nevertheless, he would play this final move out with care.

"I'm so pleased to hear it." He smiled kindly at her. "Do you have any questions about the details or wish to negotiate any of the terms?"

The Granger girl shook her head. "No, it all looks in order. Shall we determine the loan amount?" 

"How much do you need?" Tom asked. 

"To complete the experimental and testing phases, I've calculated I will need approximately twelve thousand gallons," she told him.

“That sounds perfectly acceptable," Tom said. He had already estimated a similar amount, of course, based on what he already knew about her work, but he had to continue to act as if it was all new to him. "As stated in the contract, my interest rate is ten percent, with the usual loan period being twenty-four months. That would bring your monthly minimum repayments to—

"Five hundred and fifty Galleons," the Granger girl finished briskly. "Yes, that will be quite manageable, thank you."

Tom nodded. So she'd done the maths already. She was more prepared than he'd thought. "Are you sure? I can make an exception in your case and extend the loan period out by six months. I don't wish to place you under a financial burden, Miss Granger."

"Hermione, please, Tom," she replied. "Thank you for your consideration, but that won't be necessary. I earn a comfortable income by supplying several businesses and individuals with regular potions orders, so I am more than able to meet the repayment amount as it stands."

"Very well. May I—?" He gestured towards the contract, which was sitting off to the side, out of the way of the food and drinks.

The Granger girl—Hermione—passed him the scroll. Tom unrolled it, added the loan amount and time frame, entered the agreed repayments, and offered it to her for inspection. She read over it carefully and nodded in satisfaction, then passed it to the Weasley girl so she could do the same. While she was distracted, Tom took the opportunity to subtly slide into Hermione's mind. He was quite certain she was none the wiser about him, but it didn't pay to jump to conclusions. He prodded about and saw nothing of concern, although he  _ did  _ find the names of the businesses she supplied potions to, as well as the individual customers who placed the highest number of orders. This was useful information, and he filed it away for later.

"Hermione, are you alright?" The Weasley girl was asking now, concern in her tone and expression. The curly-haired witch was frowning and rubbing at her temple. A common side-effect of Legilimency, of course, but if it was done carefully enough, the target would be completely unaware of what had transpired and put the pain down to—

"—Just a headache coming on," Hermione replied, with a slight grimace. "I'll be fine. Are you happy with the contract, Gin?"

"Yes, it looks very reasonable," she answered, passing the scroll back to her friend.

"Well then, it's settled. Do you happen to have a quill with you, Tom?" Hermione asked, turning to him with the contract in her hand.

Tom reached into his robes and pulled out a beautiful green-black quill with a flourish. He handed it to Hermione and she thanked him before adding her signature at the bottom as the Weasley girl looked on. He considered examining her mind as well, but decided against it. She was nothing more than an acquaintance and follower, and therefore he was confident what she might know or not know was of no consequence. 

Hermione handed him the contract and he signed it himself, then pulled out his wand to make a copy. Just before he tapped the end against the parchment to duplicate it, he surreptitiously cast a spell to see if any copies had been made. There hadn't been, which cemented his confidence that this would be a standard swindle and that both the potion and Hermione would be ripe for the taking.

Handing her the copy he had made, Tom briskly rolled up the original and placed it carefully in his robes, along with the quill. "I very much look forward to assisting you, Hermione," he stated. "I will deposit the full amount into your Gringotts account within twenty-four hours." He extended his hand, and she shook it firmly.

"Thank you, Tom," she said happily, an excited flush to her cheeks. "I'm so grateful to you. I will owl the latest reports on the project to you by tomorrow morning, although I must request you keep the information in strictest confidence in order to protect the research."

"Absolutely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get to my next meeting. Good day, ladies." Tom stood, bowed once again—manners maketh man, after all—received their thanks and goodbyes with grace, and exited.

Once outside, he allowed himself a small grin. The ‘ _ fine _ fine print’, as he liked to call it, would not appear on the contract until seven days after it had been signed. If Hermione was anything like the average person, she would put the contract away and not look at it again—until it was time for him to collect, and she went to dispute it, of course—and so would not be able to say exactly  _ when _ the additional terms appeared, or prove that they hadn’t been there at the time of signing. He would, once again, be victorious.  
  


* * *

  
Hermione and Ginny kept up their ruse, remaining at the cafe for another ten minutes after Riddle had departed. When they left, they did so casually, strolling outside and making their way down the street, window-shopping and chatting about inconsequential things. Gradually, the two witches made their way back to their room to debrief.

“He tried it, didn’t he? Legilimency?” Ginny checked.

“He did,” Hermione answered. “I let him see the names of some of the businesses I brew for, as well as a few of my other regulars. He seemed quite pleased with that information.”

“You want to see if he’ll go after them.”

Hermione nodded. “Given his history, yes. Let’s look at the contract again.” She reached into her robes and withdrew it. Unrolling the parchment, she scanned it carefully, Ginny looking over her shoulder, then turned it over to examine the back. “Nothing seems to have changed yet, but it wouldn’t be very smart to manipulate the contract so soon after signing. We’ll keep checking it over the next few days.” She placed the contract in a drawer.

Ginny checked the time. “We need to meet with Alanna and the other assistants in a couple of hours,” she reminded Hermione. “Have we got everything we need?”

Hermione checked her beaded bag to make sure she had plenty of empty vials to store memories in, as well as parchment and quills for making notes. “Yes. Let’s go.”

They arrived at the meeting point — a nondescript Muggle restaurant popular with the lunchtime crowd — right on time. Hermione had booked a large booth near the back of the room to afford their group additional privacy. Alanna and four friends were already there. The food, which they had pre-ordered, arrived at the same time as Hermione and Ginny. Although Alanna  looked happy to see them, the others appeared nervous .

“Hello,” Hermione greeted them as she and Ginny sat down, casting a  _ Muffilatio _ around them as she did so. “Thank you all so much for coming today. Has Alanna explained why I’ve invited you all here?”

“Something to do with our bosses,” a short blonde witch with blue eyes and dark lashes said suspiciously. “You’re the one whose research funding got cancelled. I won’t let you do anything that might negatively affect Mr Barron. He can be impatient and old-fashioned, but he’s not a bad man.”

“I know,” Hermione soothed. “None of the board members are. But I’m sure you all can agree their decision didn’t make sense. I suspect someone is pressuring them behind the scenes and I’m concerned for their welfare. They could be in danger.”

Alanna’s friends exchanged worried, mistrustful glances.

The blonde witch spoke again. “How do we know you’re not just trying to cause trouble?”

“Maria!” Alanna hissed. “Hermione wouldn’t do that. If she suspects something is amiss, it probably is. She’s really smart.”

Hermione blushed at the praise. “Thank you, Alanna.”

“Alanna says you brew the best headache potion she’s ever used,” another witch, this one a tall, willowy brunette with striking green eyes, said.

The second compliment made Hermione blush even harder. “I  _ do _ brew her a version which I modified, but I can’t attest to it being anything that amazing,” she demurred. 

“Nonsense,” Alanna argued. “It’s the best potion available, and believe me, I’ve tried them all. It works within minutes and keeps them at bay for weeks at a time.”

The other girls looked impressed. “What do you want us to do?” the brunette witch asked. 

“Describe your boss’s usual routine and who they usually see in the course of a business week,” Hermione replied. “The key timeframes are between last Tuesday, when Crouch sent me the owl telling me my funding had been cut, and Saturday morning before the meeting commenced. I’d also be grateful if each of you could supply memories detailing anything you observed that might have been a little out of the ordinary, no matter how trivial it might have seemed at the time.”

The women nodded slowly in understanding. One by one, they outlined the information Hermione had asked for. A quick-quotes quill scratched busily in the corner of the table, out of sight of any Muggles who might glance in their direction. Finally, Hermione cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm over the table while the witches retrieved memories of anything they had seen over the past week that might be useful. Once these tasks were completed, Alanna and her friends began to pack their belongings away, preparing to return to work. 

“Thank you all for helping,” Hermione said, dispelling the charm. “Please, for your own and your boss’s safety, keep this matter strictly confidential. It’s important that nobody is given a reason to think anything is going on. Just carry on as if nothing unusual has happened.” The women agreed to be careful and departed.

Once they had gone, Hermione and Ginny returned to the inn. “Let’s collect our memories now,” Hermione suggested. “Any conversations we had between when I clashed with Crouch and the meeting, as well, so we can review them in more detail.” The two witches retrieved several of their own memories until rows of labelled vials were sitting in holders, the silvery liquid swirling gently within.

Hermione summoned her Pensieve from the hidden compartment in her travel case and enlarged it, cancelling the Stasis Charm that prevented the liquid inside from spilling out. She selected one of Alanna’s memories first and poured it into the bowl. She and Ginny submerged their faces in the shimmering surface, tumbling into the echo of the past.

_ They landed in a bustling office. Alanna was sitting at a desk in front of a solid oak door, which was closed. On the door was a small plaque which read,  _ **_Mr Marsh: Head of International Magical Cooperation._ ** _ Alanna was busy with paperwork. A short blond man suddenly appeared at the entrance to the outer office, glanced around, then headed towards her. He stopped at the desk and Alanna looked up.  _

_ “May I help you, Sir?” she inquired politely. _

_ “Yes, I have an appointment to see Mr Marsh,” the man replied. “The name is Dickens, Charles Dickens.” _

_ “Mr Dickens…? My apologies, I don’t recall—” Alanna frowned and trailed off, reaching for a ledger and opening it to leaf through the pages. Hermione moved around the desk to look. “Oh. Here you are. Mr Dickens. If you’ll wait one moment, I’ll let him know you've arrived.” _

_ Alanna stood, rapped softly on the door and poked her head through. “Your three’o’clock is here, Mr Marsh.”  _

_ Hermione stood next to the door, listening. _

_ “You must be mistaken, Miss French. I don’t have a three’o’clock today.” _

_ “It’s in the schedule, sir,” Alanna replied, her tone contrite. “I apologise — I don’t recall it either, but it’s there.” _

_ Hermione could hear a rustling from within the office —  _ **_Marsh must have a copy of the book, too,_ ** _ she thought to herself. “Humph. So it is. Charles Dickens? Very well, send him in, Miss French. Thank you.” _

_ Alanna showed Dickens into the office and shut the door behind him before returning to her desk. “I’m  _ **_sure_ ** _ there was no three’o’clock in there when I checked this morning,” she muttered to herself. _

_ The memory jumped forward then, to show Dickens emerging once again and departing with a muttered ‘thank you, Miss’. Hermione noticed Alanna’s gaze jump to the clock and saw only fifteen minutes had passed. She frowned. How odd that the appointment had been so brief. And then there was the matter of who the man introduced himself as. She didn’t think it was a coincidence that he had given the moniker of a famous Muggle author — it had to be a false name. _

Hermione felt the familiar tug as the memory ended, pulling her out of the Pensieve and back into their room. She turned to look at Ginny. “Interesting,” she hummed.

“I wouldn’t think it likely that both Alanna and Marsh would forget a scheduled appointment,” Ginny said. “I heard her say she was sure it hadn’t been there earlier. Perhaps someone managed to tamper with the schedule somehow?”

“Not likely at all that they would both forget,” Hermione agreed. “And I was wondering the same thing. There’s also the fact that it was a short appointment, and that he gave what is almost certainly a false name.”

“I thought it sounded familiar,” Ginny mused. “Where is it from?”

“Charles Dickens is a Muggle author,” Hermione explained. “He wrote what are now some of the most famous examples of literature in our world, such as  _ A Tale of Two Cities  _ and  _ Oliver Twist _ .”

“Definitely suspicious,” Ginny said. “Let’s look at the memories from the other assistants.”

It soon became apparent that a pattern was forming. In each of the memories, the witch’s boss would interact in some way with an unfamiliar man, ending up alone for ten or fifteen minutes, out of sight of anyone else. In one case, it was what looked like a chance meeting in a hallway; in another, it was a request to speak privately for a moment after a meeting. All the encounters were with different men in slightly different circumstances, and yet they deviated just enough from the regular routines each woman had detailed that they were noticed. However, they had been dismissed, thought of as unimportant, until Hermione had prompted them to think back.

In the room once again, Hermione and Ginny compared ideas while they took a break. Watching several memories one after the other was quite tiring, and they needed time to recover.

“It definitely looks like someone has targeted them and found a way to coerce each of the board members,” Ginny stated. “We just need to find out what leverage this person or persons has against each of them.”

“I’m certain it’s one person—two at the most—most likely using Polyjuice,” Hermione theorised. “Perhaps Riddle and someone working for him, or perhaps he sent someone else to do his dirty work.”

Ginny’s stomach growled. They had spent several hours in the assistants' memories and going over the notes they had taken earlier that day. “Let’s get some dinner and walk through our memories after that,” she suggested.

“Good idea,” Hermione agreed. They washed up and headed downstairs to eat.

An hour later, with full bellies, they returned to their room and began going through their own memories of the past week, working backwards from the meeting. Nothing had jumped out at them and they were down to only two vials. Ginny picked one up and looked at it. “Wednesday afternoon,” she read. “Oh! That’s the day before our double date with Blaise and Draco.” She uncorked the vial and poured the memory into the Pensieve, then dipped her face into it. 

Hermione watched as her friend was sucked into the bowl, then joined her. She landed once again in the room they had just left. Their memory selves were busily preparing the notes Hermione had intended to present to the board members during the meeting.

_ A tap on the window disturbed their concentration. Memory Ginny went to let the owl in, feeding it a treat, and quickly read the note. _

_ “It’s from Blaise and Draco,” she announced. “Suggesting a new restaurant that’s just opened up in Wizarding London. They’ve booked a reservation for six pm tomorrow.” _

_ Memory Hermione shook her head in negation. “I’ll have to cancel, I’ve too much to do now. But you go on, Gin. Send my apologies to Draco. Tell him I’ll meet him another time.” _

_ “Oh,  _ **_hell_ ** _ no,” Memory Ginny exclaimed. “You are not backing out of this date! Don’t use Crouch as an excuse, because it won’t work.” _

_ “But—”  _

_ “No buts. We’re going, even if it means I have to put you under the _ **_Imperius_ ** _ to do it!” _

_ “Fine, fine,” Memory Hermione relented. “I’ll go on the Merlin-be-damned date. Now, can we go eat and then get back to work?” _

“Of course!” Grabbing Ginny’s arm, she pulled them both out of the memory. 

“It's so obvious! The board members haven’t been bribed or coerced. They’ve been  _ Imperiused!”  _ she cried, once they landed in the real room once more.

Ginny’s brows pulled together as she digested the information, then her eyes widened in realisation. “It makes perfect sense!” she exclaimed. “Seemingly chance brief encounters with an unknown person, all occurring within a few days of each other, and suddenly the board members unanimously agree with Crouch, even though he bypassed procedure. They completely ignore your argument  _ and _ the fact you haven’t changed anything to no longer meet the established criteria, and they formally cancel your funding.”

“We need to keep a close eye on the board members to see if there are any similar incidents going forward,” Hermione decided. “I’ll ask Alanna to observe Marsh closely and have her friends do the same with their bosses, and to let us know if they witness any similar interactions.”

“Keep Riddle close, too,” Ginny added. “Find some way to hold his interest and want to meet with you again.”

“I’ll invite him to examine the current batch,” Hermione decided. “It’s near completion and I’m sure he won’t be able to resist seeing the product in its early stages for himself.” 

She gathered the report and sat down to pen a letter to Riddle. She would send the information from the public post office first thing in the morning.  
  


* * *

  
Tom looked over the report and grinned to himself. Yes, once he had control of the patent for this potion, he would make a lot of money. Not that he needed it, of course, but wealth was power — as was having your name associated with a groundbreaking potion that could change the course of wizarding history. Placing the report to one side, he picked up the letter that had accompanied it, reading it through again. She was already inviting him to examine the potion in the final stages of the experimental phase; he hadn’t even needed to drop any hints or put pressure on her to showcase her progress.

_...I have finally had the outcome I have been working towards after much tinkering, and now only need to replicate the process several times over the next few months to ensure I get consistent results. Once I am satisfied, the potion will be ready for peer review and testing by another potions master.  _

_ I plan to request expressions of interest and conduct interviews in order to select the best person for the job — as well as being skilled, they must be open-minded, free of bias (as much as can be reasonably expected, at least), and, of the utmost importance, trustworthy and completely discreet… _

“You’re so incredibly naive and trusting,” Tom murmured to himself. “But it does make things easier for me, and for that, I thank you.” He actually knew a potions master who owed him a favour. Horace Slughorn was a talented man, but a little too fond of expensive things, and had found himself in significant debt several years ago. Tom, of course, had come to the rescue, and although Slughorn had managed to repay what he owed in terms of money, he had not yet repaid the personal service Tom had demanded as a condition of the loan.

This was proving to be laughably easy. He would see the potion for himself, act suitably impressed, and then when the time came to choose a potions master, ensure Hermione chose his man.

Rising from his desk, Tom summoned his cloak. It was time to begin keeping tabs on Hermione’s most lucrative customers, so he could strike when the time was right. Over time, he would decimate as many of her sources of income as possible. Then, when she no longer had the means to meet the repayments, she would be his.  
  


* * *

  
The next several days were busy for Hermione. She found an apartment in a small Muggle building and confounded the landlord into thinking she was a tenant, setting up her potions lab in the back room and casting the necessary enchantments and wards one would cast in order to keep Muggles away. Riddle had seemed none the wiser when he visited, appearing to believe that she had been working there for the past few months. He acted as if he was very pleased with her progress and asked a great deal of questions about the process and her methods.

He also mentioned the name of a potions master who came highly recommended. “His name is Slughorn, Horace Slughorn.” Riddle told Hermione. “Have you heard of him?”

She had, actually, and what she knew was not favourable. But she said that yes, she had heard of him and his accomplishments, and thanked Tom for recommending him. “Do encourage him to submit his expression of interest,” she urged.

In addition, she continued to quietly liaise with Alanna. It wasn’t safe for Hermione to share her theory yet, lest the girls or board members be compromised, so she simply said she was still trying to piece things together and encouraged them to report anything else that seemed out of the ordinary.

As well as continuing their investigations, Hermione and Ginny had been on two more dates with Draco and Blaise. It had become evident that the two wizards, despite their frequent sniping at each other, were almost a single unit and very close. Given Hermione and Ginny’s own close friendship, they found this both amusing and endearing.

“We’ve been best mates since we were in nappies,” Blaise explained at dinner during their second double date. “Draco’s a pain in the arse, but I love him like a brother and would defend him to the very end. I would fight anyone who dared insult him.”

“And  _ have  _ you needed to fight anyone in defense of Draco’s honour?” Ginny asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Blaise nodded sagely. “Loads of times.”

Hermione had laughed at his frank admission. “And how many of those fights did you win?” she enquired.

Blaise paused to think. “I’d say almost all of them.”

“Bollocks.” Draco snorted. “You got your arse kicked at least a quarter of the time.”

“Which means I _won_ _three-quarters_ of the time,” Blaise retorted. “Which is a clear majority.”

To Hermione’s amusement, Ginny was completely infatuated with Blaise — not that she could blame her. The Italian wizard was flirty, charming, debonair, and a perfect gentleman. 

Meanwhile, Hermione had finally admitted out loud how much she enjoyed Draco’s company. His antics and exaggerations made her laugh, and she was impressed by his quick wit and intelligence. She also found it fascinating that he put on the air of a spoiled little rich boy, flouncing about with his pointy nose in the air in public, but once he was engaged in conversation or not so directly in the public eye, he would become serious and contemplative.

“I’ve a reputation to uphold,” Draco explained when she called him out on it on their third date. “Everyone expects me to act a certain way, so I do. That way, they don’t _really_ pay attention to me. It means that I can more freely pay attention to _them_. You hear and see many interesting things when people are looking through you instead of at you.” 

Hermione had been impressed by this admission, particularly given she too liked to blend into the background to more effectively observe her surroundings. She agreed wholeheartedly with Draco — the knowledge one could attain by simply watching and listening often proved to be useful.

In addition to their normal routine and spending time with their beaus, Hermione and Ginny had been checking the contract every day, watching for any changes. Now, a week and a day after she had signed it, the hidden conditions had finally been revealed. 

Ginny gasped in shock and outrage. “The sneaky bastard! You were right. And the Wizengamot wouldn’t argue it, because the ‘asset’ — which in your case is your potion — is submitted as collateral. It lets him legally claim it in lieu of monetary repayment should you fail to pay him what’s owed.”

“That’s not all.” Hermione pointed to the very bottom of the contract, where writing so small it was not easily legible to the naked eye had appeared. She cast a spell to read the text out loud.

_ “If the contract conditions are not met, Hermione Jean Granger agrees, in addition to forfeiting all current and future rights to the product that is offered up as collateral, to wed Tom Marvolo Riddle in accordance with Article 604, Section A, Subpart C of the Magical Marriage Law Act of 1798.” _

Hermione’s face darkened. “So he wants to trap me into marriage as well, does he?” 

Retrieving the undetectable copy she had made when she took the original contract away for inspection, she and Ginny compared it with the signed version. The first remained unchanged, proving that the conditions which had just appeared on the signed copy were most definitely  _ not _ present when she had first taken it away to read it. Clearly, the contract needed to be signed by both parties, making it legally binding, in order for the extra conditions and the concealment charms that hid them to be activated. She made an undetectable duplicate of the altered contract and placed it in her beaded bag along with the unsigned version, then returned the original signed copy to the hidden compartment along with the Pensieve.

“I need to find a library so I can track down a copy of that law,” Hermione stated. “But I can’t risk using a public one, in case it tips Riddle off that we’ve already discovered the conditions.”

Ginny gave a long-suffering groan. “I  _ hate _ libraries,” she said.

Hermione smirked. “I know.” 

The two witches were silent for several minutes as they tried to think of a suitable alternative. 

“What about Draco?” Ginny suggested. “I bet he has an extensive library in that big fancy manor of his. All the rich old pureblood families do.”

“He’d want to know why, though,” Hermione frowned.

“Well, not necessarily.” Ginny countered. “He doesn’t seem like one to pry. And he clearly adores you. I’m sure he’d do whatever you ask without a word of question or protest.”

Hermione blushed. It was true, Draco did seem rather taken with her. Which was just as well, given she was quite taken with him.

“I suppose I could ask him,” she decided. “But first, I’d better send an update.” She summoned the enchanted parchment and sent the coded message.

_ The Knave covets secrets he ought not know, _

_ He desires the technique _

_ His falsehoods weave like Devil’s Snare _

_ To meet the goal he seeks. _

_ A binding is his hidden wish _

_ The word of man declares _

_ That he may take what is not his _

_ As do the words appear. _

The missive, as always, bled into the paper and disappeared. She returned the parchment to her beaded bag, then scribbled a note to Draco requesting use of the Malfoy family library. 

Parchment in hand, she headed downstairs to find Maxim, the inn's owl. He was in the dining room, begging scraps from the few people who were lingering over their breakfasts, and was most put out at being interrupted. He snapped his beak crossly at Hermione and only relented when she promised to save him a piece of meat from her dinner that evening, holding out his leg with very bad grace.

With the note attached, he flew off out the window, giving her one more baleful glance as he went. Task completed, Hermione returned to her room to wait for Draco's reply. She would find out what the cited section said, and then she would find a way to beat Riddle at his own game.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A/N: Thanks to everyone who is reading, following, and has bookmarked or reviewed - I hope you continue to enjoy! On to the next chapter!_

Draco read over the note with a grin. Hermione wanted to see his library. Brilliant! He had been dying to show it off to her, knowing her love of books. Grabbing a quill, he jotted down a reply to say that yes, she was most welcome to come whenever she pleased, and the wards would be adjusted to allow her and Ginny free access to the Manor.

_Come via the Floo, if you prefer. We have one in the library, so just state "Malfoy Manor, library" as your destination._

Offering the owl—which, he couldn't help but notice, was rather plump—a small handful of treats, he tied the reply to its leg. The creature flew off with some difficulty, and Draco wondered if it spent all its free time eating. Given it lived in an inn where food was provided, he thought it likely.

Draco contacted Blaise using his own eagle owl, Pollux, to let him know their witches were headed to the manor, amended the wards as he had promised to do, then headed to the library to wait. On the way there, he met his mother.

"Draco, I can't help but notice you've just changed the wards to allow Miss Granger and Miss Weasley unfettered access to the manor." Narcissa eyed him with a small smirk playing about her lips. "Is it safe to presume that your courtship is coming along well?"

He considered retorting with some snippy remark, but he knew it was no use trying to dodge the question. She was a smart woman with her delicate fingers in a great many pies and information networks and clearly already knew the answer.

"Yes, Mother. We are enjoying each other's company. So far, at least."

"Well, of _course_ you are," Narcissa tsked. "The two of you are very well matched."

Draco rolled his eyes. "So you keep saying." He _hated_ it when she was right.

Distantly, he heard the Floo in the parlour roar, followed by Blaise calling out, "Rejoice! For I have arrived!" A few moments later, he emerged through a door behind them, joining mother and son. "Are they here yet?"

"Hello to you too, Blaise," Draco said sarcastically.

"Hello, Narcissa. How lovely to see you," Blaise greeted, ignoring his friend in favour of offering the matriarch his most charming smile. He turned towards Draco and jerked his head back in exaggerated fashion, feigning surprise. "Oh, hello, Draco. I didn't see you there."

"Prat."

"Bellend."

The niceties observed, Draco turned again towards the library, excusing himself to his mother and indicating that Blaise should follow him.

"What prompts the visit?" Blaise asked.

"Hermione wants to see the library," Draco explained. "She didn't say exactly why, just that she wants to do some research. I assume it's something potions-related."

Half an hour later, the library Floo activated and Hermione and Ginny stepped through, brushing the soot from their robes.

" _Cara!"_ Blaise exclaimed, stepping forward to sweep Ginny into his arms and twirl her about the room, making her squeal.

Draco shook his head. _So undignified._

Hermione stepped up to him with a smile. "Thanks for letting us come over."

"I had actually been planning to invite you anyway," he replied. "I figured exposing you to my endowments would make me even more irresistible than I already am." He flashed her a cheeky grin and winked, making her laugh and roll her eyes at him.

"Oh, how unfortunate. I'm only using you for your _endowment_ ," she teased. "Books are far more alluring than any man could hope to be."

Draco affected a wounded expression. "And here I thought you adored me."

"Well… I suppose you're fairly tolerable," Hermione conceded. "Most of the time, anyway."

"Better take it, Drake," Blaise piped up. "It's the best you can hope to get."

"You're all so cruel to me," Draco sighed dramatically.

"Gotta keep you in line somehow," Ginny said with a laugh.

Hermione, meanwhile, had zoned out of the conversation, her eyes roving slowly around the cavernous room with its tall stacks packed with books of all kinds. Draco noticed her blissful expression and smiled. She was quite adorable, in her element like this.

"What are you looking for?" he asked her.

"Magical Law. Specifically, editions from the seventeen-hundreds."

Draco was perplexed, but he guided her to the section of the library that housed legal subjects. She disappeared immediately, barely giving him a thank you or a backwards glance.

"What shall we do while Hermione's busy with her secret lovers?" Ginny wondered. "She could be some time. I don't expect her to have too much difficulty finding what she's looking for, but she _does_ tend to get easily sidetracked with other books. She could be hours."

"She's definitely a woman after my own heart," Draco declared. "I could, and frequently do, spend hours in here myself."

"How about a drink?" Blaise suggested. "Draco, didn't you say you have that Muggle liquor that you wanted to try?"

"Oh, yes." Draco summoned a house elf and requested she bring him the alcohol he had purchased the other day, along with four glasses. "I'll send one over to Hermione," he explained.

"It might even tempt her out faster," Blaise theorised.

When the alcohol arrived, Ginny eyed it with interest. "Is that... _Goldschläger?"_

Yes," Draco replied as he twisted the lid. "I thought it looked very classy. Do Muggles often add gold to their liquors?"

"Only in a few brands," Ginny replied, accepting the glass that Draco poured for her. "But the range of different alcohols available in the Muggle world is wide and varied. In comparison, the wizarding world has very little choice."

"And do you know much about Muggle alcohol?" Blaise asked, taking a glass of his own.

"I do." Ginny nodded, looking wise. "Muggles have this special shop called an off-licence—Draco, you'll have gotten this from one—" she held up the glass and Draco nodded in assent.

"—Hermione introduced me to it in our last year of school when I came back to England with her for the term break. It sells all manner of different drinks. You could try a new thing every day and it would still take you more than a year to sample every option."

"As I recall, Ginny spent almost two entire weeks in a state of constant inebriation."

Three heads turned to see Hermione walking towards them, a book in her hand. "She actually got violently ill several times, which was not pretty."

The curly-haired witch took a seat beside Draco. "You found what you needed already?" he asked, pouring her a drink. "That was quick."

"I did. Your library is beautifully organised," she replied.

Draco glanced at the spine. _Magical Marriage Law Act, 1798._ He wasn't sure why, but it made him uneasy.

"Why are you researching marriage law, if you don't mind me asking?" he enquired.

"Oh, just for a bit of light reading," she said noncommittally.

"Light reading? Of dusty old laws?" Blaise snorted. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"No, she really does do things like this." Ginny added, wrinkling her nose. "She thinks it's _interesting."_

"Knowledge is power," Hermione replied primly.

Draco, however, was silent. He was certain her interest had something to do with… whatever she and Ginny were doing here, and he was determined to find out.

The curiosity continued to nag at him until eventually, aided by the alcohol, his usual decorum fled him and he blurted out, "Why are you _really_ researching magical marriage law?"

Hermione blinked at him in disbelief for a moment before her features morphed into a frown. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"Why are you really researching magical marriage law?" he repeated. "It's more than just 'light reading' otherwise you wouldn't have considered the matter so urgent."

"How—what—who do you think you are?" Hermione spluttered in outrage. " _Interrogating_ me about my reading choices? Are you really _that_ insecure?"

"I'm _not_ insecure!" Draco replied heatedly. "I'm _concerned_. There's some other reason you and Ginny are here, something more than just your potions research. You had that run in with Crouch and then the weird thing with the board, who you've been investigating, and now you've taken a very sudden and unexplained interest in a very old law that's rarely ever referred to or used."

He looked at her imploringly. " _Please,_ Hermione. Tell me what's going on. Maybe I can help."

She looked at him in shock, her eyes wider than a mooncalf's, a flush appearing in her cheeks. "N-nothing's going on. You must be mistaken—"

"Hermione."

Draco and Hermione turned their heads to look at Ginny, who had gotten to her feet.

"Hermione, can I have a word?" She strode over and took her friend by the hand, pulling her to her feet and leading her towards the stacks before she could argue. Draco and Blaise exchanged a look.

Withdrawing his wand, Draco muttered a spell to amplify Ginny and Hermione's voices. He felt a twinge of guilt at his decision to eavesdrop, but told himself it was important to try and find out more. Clearly, there _was_ more, considering the way both had reacted. Still, even with the use of the spell, he could only hear snatches of the conversation, as they spoke in low whispers.

"'Mione, maybe we should tell them—"

"No! It's too risky—"

"But Draco already suspects—"

"We hardly know them—"

"I think we can trust them—"

"What if we can't—?"

Draco canceled the charm at Hermione's last question, stung. Did she really have so little faith in him?

A few minutes later, the two witches emerged. Ginny looked determined, while Hermione was clearly conflicted. They sat down together on one of the couches. Hermione looked at Draco and Blaise, opened her mouth, then shut it again, twisting her fingers nervously. Ginny gave her a sharp nudge with her elbow.

"You're right. I'm not just looking into magical marriage law for fun. There's a specific passage I need to check."

Draco's heart sank into his shoes. "Are—are you betrothed to someone?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

"Well—strictly speaking, no. But I may be forced into a betrothal." Hermione took a deep breath, looked to Ginny for reassurance, and received a comforting squeeze of her hand.

"It's to do with my funding being cancelled. A few days after the meeting, I was approached by a man named Tom Riddle. He offered me a loan—"

Draco's stomach crawled when he heard her utter the man's name. "Hermione, _please_ tell me you didn't enter into a contract with him," he begged.

She didn't immediately answer, but her face told him everything he needed to know. His chest constricted in fear.

"What possessed you to do it? I would have _given_ you the money, with no expectation of repayment, and yet you allowed him to _loan_ it to you? He's an incredibly dangerous man, Hermione! You don't know what he's capable of!" Draco said desperately, his voice harsh in his worry for her.

"I know perfectly well what he's capable of," Hermione snapped. "I've done my research."

"Then _why?_ I don't understand!"

She sighed. "I think he's the one behind my funding being cancelled. But that's only part of it. We—" she turned to Ginny again, who gave a small nod. "I can only tell you more if you and Blaise both agree to take a wizarding oath. This is sensitive, crucial information, and if it gets out it could ruin our whole operation."

Draco nodded. "Of course."

"Sign me up," added Blaise.

"Okay." Hermione let out a long, slow breath. "Ginny, will you cast the spell, please? Draco, you first." She stood, staring into his eyes.

Draco rose and moved towards her chair, meeting her in the middle of the space between them. He extended his right arm, and Hermione grabbed his wrist in her hand, allowing him to do the same to hers. Ginny joined them, withdrawing her wand.

"Ready?" the redheaded witch asked them.

"Yes."

"Draco Malfoy, do you swear to keep the secrets imparted to you by Hermione Jean Granger and Ginevra Molly Weasley?"

"I do." He vowed. The first strand, glowing red, burst forth from Ginny's wand and wrapped itself around their bound arms.

"And do you, Draco Malfoy, swear not to interfere with our mission or the people involved, regardless of what you learn?"

He hesitated for the barest moment before steeling himself.

"I do." The second strand, glowing green, joined the first.

"And do you, Draco Malfoy, swear to stay away from Tom Riddle, and not attempt to contact him in any way, shape, or form, unless given leave to do otherwise by Hermione Jean Granger or Ginevra Molly Weasley?"

 _Damn._ He sighed. Clever witches. "I do." The final strand, a vibrant gold, joined the others. The three bands glowed brightly, tightening around their flesh, before sinking slowly into their arms and disappearing.

"It's done." Ginny announced. She turned to Blaise. "Your turn."

Draco sat down, his arm tingling from the spell. Blaise took his place in front of Hermione, they joined arms, and Ginny repeated the ceremony. When it was complete, the three resumed their seats. Draco refilled everyone's glasses and called for a house elf to bring food.

Once food had arrived and they had all nibbled at some sandwiches, Draco turned to Hermione once again. "Right. So, this operation. What does it involve, and what's the deal with Riddle?"

Hermione paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "We're investigating him. Well, we only verified it was him we needed to investigate once we arrived here."

"I don't follow." Draco frowned slightly, confused.

Hermione launched into an explanation of their mission. They had known there was a wizard who was exploiting multiple people, leading to the loss of their livelihoods and financial security, but hadn't been able to confirm that man was Riddle until they had seen him in Wilma's inn and then talked to Mundungus Fletcher. _That dodgy, thieving prick,_ Draco thought to himself. He couldn't help smirking at how easily the witches had cowed the small-time crook, though.

Hermione continued her tale, telling him about the way they carried on with their ruse until Crouch had first interfered. Draco knew that part of the story, but raised his eyebrows in surprise when the curly-haired witch described their conversation with the board members' assistants and the subsequent memories they had acquired from the women.

"I agree it sounds like they were all _Imperiused,_ and it's just the type of thing Riddle would do," Draco mused thoughtfully. "But how did you end up in a position where you might be forced to marry him?"

"I'm certain he wants not only my potion, but me," Hermione explained. "He made it one of the conditions of his contract. The other condition is that, if I fail to repay him, I must surrender all current and future rights to the potion to him."

"Which would mean he could control the price and distribution. It would explain why he's likely to be the prime suspect behind forcing the officials to vote to drop your funding," Blaise said.

"The Ministry agreed to ensure the price would not be unaffordable if I would allow them to be the sole distributors," Hermione said. "It would have been great PR and earned a small profit for their coffers, which made it all the more bizarre that the board unanimously refused to fund any further work. _Imperio_ is the only possible explanation that makes sense. It would have been nigh impossible to simply bribe or blackmail all of them into making such a decision."

"Do you have the contract with you?" Draco asked her.

Hermione nodded and pulled it from her bag, handing it to him. Draco skimmed the standard, more transparent legalese and conditions at the top of the contract, before coming to the hidden conditions.

"Those extras — my surrender of the potion and the betrothal agreement — only appeared this morning."

"So _that's_ how he does it," Draco muttered, his face darkening. "He conceals additional conditions within the parchment that only appear after the lendee has signed their life away. They literally have no idea what they're agreeing to because they can't see it."

"Yes. And unless they have an unsigned copy, it would be impossible to prove that they weren't aware of the extra conditions prior to signing," Hermione replied.

"You don't happen to _have_ an unsigned copy by any chance?" Draco asked hopefully.

"Of course." Hermione looked at him as if he'd just asked the world's stupidest question. Reaching into her bag once again, she withdrew a blank copy, unsigned. "I used a spell of my colleague's own design. It makes a copy of any document, overriding any protections it may have to prevent the caster from duplicating the content, and the original writer of the document will not be able to tell if a copy has been made."

"That's clever," Blaise said admiringly.

Draco, meanwhile, was comparing the two versions. "And you signed… let me see… a week ago yesterday. So the hidden conditions take eight days to appear, luring the lendee into a false sense of security?"

"I can't say for sure it's eight days exactly in every instance," Hermione answered. "But given that with any type of contract, either party can withdraw any time in the first seven days without penalty, it makes sense that they wouldn't appear until it was too late to cancel the agreement."

"This bottom text is almost impossible to read," Draco grumbled. He cast a read-aloud spell over it and felt his horror and anger mount as the reason for Hermione's need for the book on marriage law became apparent.

"What does _Article 604, Section A, Subpart C_ say, exactly?" Blaise asked.

"Oh!" Hermione glanced down at the book she still clutched in her hand. Amid all the discussion, she had clearly forgotten she was holding it. Opening the cover, she ran her finger quickly down the table of contents, found the page number, and flipped to it.

"Here it is. Article 604, Section A. ' _In the event a witch, or a member of her immediate family, is in debt to a wizard, the debt must be repaid either in; Subpart A: coin; Subpart B: property or other assets; or Subpart C: the binding of the witch to the wizard to whom the debt is owed.'"_

Silence followed the revelation. Everyone looked at each other.

"Surely… surely that law isn't still applicable today?" Ginny asked in disbelief.

"It must be, otherwise Riddle wouldn't have included it," Draco countered. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "As far as I can recall, very few marriage laws have been formally repealed. The more obscure ones are just so seldom used any more that they've largely been forgotten. That's what he'll be relying on. Conniving bastard. It's just the type of thing he does. He uses little-known laws and loopholes to get away with all his schemes and scams."

"Draco," Hermione began. "How do you know so much about Riddle, anyway?"

"My father. He warned me about him when I was just a boy, after a friend of one of his business associates fell victim to one of Riddle's ploys and lost everything. The man took his own life less than a year after Riddle ruined him. It was in the papers — his death, I mean — but Riddle was never implicated in any way. Father sat me down and told me everything he knew and suspected, and warned me to never have any dealings with him or let anyone I knew get involved with him."

"And what did your father know and suspect, exactly?" Hermione questioned him.

"Much of what you already are aware of. That he ropes victims in with deals that look good on the surface, manipulates the law, controls influential people and takes whatever he wants. He's been doing it for years, but no one has ever been able to produce any evidence to prove it."

"Not anyone who's alive, anyway," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Mundungus told us that people who've tried to stand up to Riddle or challenge him have disappeared, never to be seen nor heard of again."

"I've heard that rumour, too," Draco said. "There are also whispers that he's a Legilimens."

"He is. He tried it on me the day we met to sign my contract."

"He _what?"_ Draco felt his anger rising again. How _dare_ that bastard violate Hermione's mind like that! "I'll kill him!" he growled, clenching his fists.

"No, you won't," Hermione ordered, sternly. "You took a vow, in case you forgot. Besides, Ginny and I are both skilled Occlumens. He didn't see anything I didn't want him to know about. He's good, I'll admit that. It was very subtle. But he made the mistake of assuming I wouldn't notice or be able to combat it."

Draco relented, slightly mollified. Then he realised what Hermione had said. "Wait—what do you mean, ' _he didn't see anything I didn't want him to know about_ '?"

"Well, we already knew from our investigations that people who have taken out loans with him often seemed to discover themselves in a position where they were no longer able to meet repayments," explained Hermione. "So I let him see the businesses I regularly supply potions to, along with several individuals who make bulk orders. I also let him think they were my main source of income."

"You think he'll target them," Blaise stated. Hermione nodded in confirmation.

"So what _is_ your main source of income, then, if I may be so bold?" Draco asked.

"I'm an investigator for a private company. So is Ginny. I thought that was obvious," she teased. "It pays well."

"I _knew_ it! See, Draco — I _told_ you they were secret agents!" Blaise crowed. Turning to Ginny, he asked, "Are you going to assassinate Riddle, red? Please tell me that's your mission!"

Ginny and Hermione both laughed. "No, Blaise, we're not here to assassinate Riddle. Or anyone, for that matter."

"And we're not secret agents." Hermione added with a smile. "We're just private investigators who have connections. We know influential people within the Ministry and other organisations, and work on cases that are of a sensitive or compromising nature."

"Told you," Draco said smugly to Blaise, who looked crestfallen at having his theory dashed.

"Shut up, dick," Blaise replied sulkily.

"So what's your next move?" Draco asked, turning back to Hermione.

"We play the long game. Wait and watch. Let Riddle make his moves while I play the clueless ingénue for as long as possible. Then set him up and take him down."

"And what can we do? Blaise and I?" he pressed. He was anxious to be involved; to help in some way. He couldn't just stand idly by while his witch faced off against one of the most dangerous and powerful men in England.

"Nothing," Hermione replied firmly. "You took vows not to interfere. If there's something we think you can help with, we'll let you know."

"But—" Draco began to protest.

" _Not unless we ask,"_ she repeated, her tone booking no disagreement.

"Fine," he grumbled, scowling. _Damn them and their carefully-worded oaths_.

Not long after, Hermione and Ginny left, Hermione still clutching the book on wizarding marriage law. She made sure to remind him of his oath before her departure, leaving Draco with an insurmountable feeling of helplessness.

* * *

_Three months later_

"This is the third one this month, and it's only the eighteenth. Riddle's really ramping up his campaign."

As predicted, Hermione's biggest customers had begun to withdraw, triggering the inevitable consequence of her monthly potions income trickling through her fingers like water through cupped hands.

The second month after signing the contract, one major business she catered to had abruptly written to her, saying they regretted that they no longer required her to supply them with potions and would not be placing any more orders going forward. They wished her well for the future.

Two weeks after that, one of her individual customers had sent a similar note, followed at the end of the month by another.

Now, in the third month, three more businesses and her remaining individual customer had withdrawn. Things were moving much faster now.

"What's the damage so far?" Ginny asked.

"Total losses will rise to just over four hundred Galleons a month, a little over half of what I bring in from potions sales." Hermione made a quick calculation on a piece of scrap parchment. "If the last business I supply pulls out, that would well and truly push me towards being in the red."

"How long do you think it'll take for that to happen?"

Hermione tapped her quill thoughtfully against her chin. "Given how quickly they've all been bailing like rats from a sinking ship, I suspect it'll happen by the end of the month."

Ginny gave a slightly predatory grin. "And then you can go to Riddle with your sob story."

"Only to be confronted with a shocking set of clauses I had no idea existed up until now."

The two witches laughed.

* * *

Tom sat in his office, smiling to himself. It had been quite easy to convince Hermone's potions customers to drop her as a supplier after paying them a visit. A little bit of intimidation there, a bribe there, a threat to expose one's affair to his wife… he expected an owl from her any day now—and what was this?

A tapping at his window drew his attention. He recognised the fat owl Wilma owned, and his smile turned into a wide, triumphant grin. He expected this message would be the one he was waiting for. Tom let the bird in, took the letter, and dismissed it with an impatient flick of his wrist. When it hooted indignantly at him and flapped its wings, expecting a treat, he banished it from the room and latched the window behind it. The owl glared at him through the glass.

"You're too fat anyway, you filthy creature," he remarked. It screeched loudly at him, offended, scraped its claws against the glass, and flew off in a huff.

Tom sat down at his desk to read the letter. Sure enough, it was from Hermione, requesting to meet with him.

_Dear Tom,_

_I have run into unexpected — albeit temporary, I'm sure — interruptions in my customer base, which may soon have an impact on my monthly income. I have some savings to tide myself over for a short time, but I wish to discuss my options with you before I get to this point._

_When may we meet?_

_Regards,_

_Hermione_

"I've got you now, my pretty, " he murmured. There was no need to reply right away. He would make her wait a day or so before agreeing to see her. Standing, Tom moved to the shelf where he kept the liquor and poured himself a celebratory drink. In a matter of months, Hermione and her potion would be his.

* * *

Three days later, Tom was completing paperwork as he waited for Hermione to arrive at his office. He had a copy of the contract beside him, ready to point out the additional clauses if she hadn't brought hers.

A knock at his door signalled her arrival and he glanced at the clock. She was three minutes early. Good. She was probably feeling optimistic. He intended to disabuse her of that positivity in short order.

"Enter."

The handle turned and Hermione stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

"Good morning, Tom. Thank you for seeing me so quickly."

"Of course. Please, sit down." His tone, previously jovial whenever he spoke with her, was now serious, almost stern. She took an involuntary step back at his tone before doing as instructed. Her hesitancy gave him a boost of confidence.

"Tom—" she began, smiling, but nervous now.

Tom held up a hand to stop her. "How long can you maintain your repayments?"

"Well, I—" she stammered. "Another two months, perhaps three, but after… I was hoping we could discuss what my options are."

"Your options are stipulated in the contract," Tom said brusquely. "Did you review it when you realised you were getting into difficulties?"

Hermione frowned. "No, I confess I didn't. I recall that it stated I should inform you immediately if I found myself in a position where I might not be able to meet the repayments, but—"

"The penalties were quite clear, Miss Granger," Tom said impatiently. Reverting to addressing her more formally was a power play, one he often used at this stage of the game. As usual, it worked. Her expression changed from one of nervousness to deeper unease.

"I—don't recall any mention of penalties," she said quietly, fisting her hands in her robes.

Sighing as if he had been severely put upon, Tom reached for his copy of the contract and passed it to her. He watched as she read it, her eyes flicking rapidly back and forth. Her face paled as the truth sunk in.

"But—but this wasn't here when I—"

"Miss Granger," he barked. "Is that, or is that not, your signature on that parchment?"

"It is, Tom—"

"Mr Riddle, if you don't mind."

"I'm sorry, Mr Riddle," she whispered. The girl was cowed already, it seemed. Excellent. "It's just that… this potion has been my life's work. I couldn't _possibly_ surrender it."

"You can, and you will, if you cannot pay," Tom replied. "And, of course, there will be the matter of the ceremony to organise."

"Ceremony?" she repeated, the apprehension evident in her voice.

"The small print, Miss Granger," Tom said, tilting his head towards the parchment.

Hermione used a read-aloud spell and gasped as the second condition was revealed. Her pretty brown eyes filled with tears. "You—you _tricked_ me! I _never_ would have agreed to sign over the rights to my potion, and I _certainly_ would never agree to marry a stranger! You can't do this! I'll go to the Wizengamot! I'll—" she got to her feet, misery and disbelief standing out starkly in her features.

Tom laughed. "The Wizengamot? They won't do a thing. Your signature is on the contract, indicating that you agreed to all the listed conditions."

"But they _weren't there_ when I signed!" she cried desperately.

"Prove it." He shrugged, challenging her.

The light in her eyes died, making him feel triumphant. "I can't," she whispered in defeat.

"You might as well try to accept the situation," he suggested, speaking to her in a kinder tone. "There's no point in dragging this out. You can even choose the wedding date."

She looked up at him, her cheeks tear-stained, bewildered by his abrupt change in demeanor.

"The...wedding date?" she echoed faintly.

"Yes," Tom replied, smiling. "So long as it's sometime in the next—" pulling a ledger towards him and flicking through it, his finger came to rest on a page. "Four months." He looked up at Hermione with a winning smile.

"But I can't get married to you," she insisted, still in disbelief. "I—I'm seeing someone."

"Ahh, yes. Young Mr Malfoy," Tom hummed. She looked at him in shock, eyes wide. "I know all about that dalliance, Miss Granger. I make it my business to know everything about my clients. Bad luck. You'll just have to break it off with him."

Hermione was silent, brooding over this information. "May I think about this?" she asked. The girl looked like she might faint, and that was fine by Tom. He did so love to see their anguish.

"Of course you may," he agreed, generously. "You have a week to decide on the date and location."

Hermione shook her head in negation. "No—I meant—"

Tom schooled his features into an expression of warning.

Any further argument she may have intended to put forward shrivelled up under his gaze. "—never mind." She turned and made to leave.

"Miss Granger."

She turned, hope in her eyes. "Yes, Mr Riddle?"

"I'll have my copy of the contract back, if you don't mind."

Hermione glanced down at the paper in her hand, clearly having forgotten all about it. "Oh. Yes. My apologies."

She handed the parchment back to him, avoiding eye contact, and crossed the room. She was halfway out the door when he called her back once more.

"Remember — you have a week to choose a date."

Hermione simply nodded in quiet agreement, the tears spilling over her cheeks once more. Without another word, she hurried out of his office, closing the door quietly behind her.

"Another successful acquisition," Tom murmured to himself. He was certain Hermione wouldn't put up much of a fight. He allowed himself to wonder whether she would elect to get the wedding out of the way sooner rather than later, or put it off as long as possible.

Either way, it didn't matter. He'd won.

* * *

"He bought it. As far as he's concerned, I'm confused, horrified, and in utter shock and misery, struggling to come to terms with the fact I've lost my potion and will have to get married to a man I don't know."

Hermione smirked at her companions as she joined them at their small table. They were very near to closing in on Riddle, and now the whole team needed to proceed with the utmost caution to ensure their target didn't get wind of the operation. For him to discover their plan now would be disastrous, and potentially put a great number of people at risk, including Draco and Blaise.

Although the two men had stayed out of the way as instructed, Hermione and her team were under no illusion about Riddle's capacity for information gathering. He had made it clear he knew about Draco and was sure to know a great deal about Blaise, as well. They could all be in danger if Riddle felt threatened by the young witches.

"Time to take that bastard down," vowed the Knight. "You're like my sister, 'Mione. I'm tempted to hex him publicly when we arrest him, just to teach him a lesson."

"You'll do no such thing, Weasley," snapped the King. "Don't be such a dunderhead. We will follow procedure and only retaliate in self-defense if he attacks one of us or threatens public safety."

"Ron's got a point, though," the Bishop interjected. "He deserves a good hexing. It would make a nice change for him to be on the business end of a wand for once. Even a greasy-hair like you can agree, surely."

"As arrogant as always, Potter," the King drawled, looking down his long nose at the bespectacled young man before him.

"Oi—"

"Listen here, Snivellus—"

Hermione rolled her eyes, exchanging a long-suffering look with Ginny. "Stop it, all of you! We need to be planning, not bickering like a bunch of children!" She glared first at Ron, then Harry, and finally Severus as she spoke. Ron and Harry quailed under her ferocious gaze and fell silent, glaring sullenly at Severus. The older man, made of sterner stuff, simply raised an eyebrow at her.

"And this is why you are crowned Queen," Severus said sardonically. "Your bossiness and tendency towards being a controlling know-it-all, while irritating, are nonetheless highly effective."

Hermione snorted at the backhanded compliment. "And you're crowned King because, while a powerful player, you need us—" she gestured at the other members of her team, "—to help cover your arse, due to the fact you're getting old and slow."

"That's _not_ why, and you know it." Severus glared, while the younger quartet sniggered. "What happened to not bickering?" he added stiffly.

"We're _not_ bickering. We're engaging in a lighthearted verbal duel," Hermione countered with a smirk.

Severus huffed impatiently. "Well, enough. Let's get to work."

* * *

_One week later_

Tom looked up from his paperwork when he heard flapping wings. An owl had flown through his open window and landed on his desk, a letter tied to its leg. When he removed it, the owl fluttered across the room and perched on the back of a chair. Clearly, it was waiting for a reply. He didn't recognise it and surmised it might be from the public post office.

Opening the letter, a slow grin spread over his face. It was from Hermione and she was accepting the terms as they were in the contract. She wished to have the ceremony six weeks from now so she would have ample time to choose a suitable dress within her meagre budget and to settle her affairs.

She had chosen Ginny as her bridesmaid, and for the location, she wished to have the ceremony in the public gardens in Wizarding London. She trusted he would take care of everything else.

Picking up a quill, Tom replied swiftly, agreeing to the requests she had made and assuring her everything else would be in hand. Next, he unlocked a safe concealed in the wall behind him and withdrew a small bag of Galleons. He tested the weight in his palm, then placed it on a set of scales to check his calculations. They had been correct, of course.

Beckoning the owl forward, Tom added to the missive, stating he expected his bride-to-be to look her best. _Use this money to buy a dress for yourself, as well as a bridesmaid's gown for Miss Weasley._

He tied both the letter and the bag to the bird's foot, then, feeling generous and cheerful, he gave it a treat. With a hoot of thanks, the owl flew off.

"Tom, you've done it again," he murmured to himself in satisfaction as he stared out of the window at the expansive grounds before him.

Only six weeks from now, he would have two more treasures to add to his collection.

* * *

Draco turned to Blaise, a piece of parchment in his hand. "We can finally be part of the operation!" he exclaimed, absently feeding the delivery owl a treat as he spoke.

"It's about bloody time," Blaise said, leaning forward with interest. "What are they asking us to do?"

"What we do best," Draco smirked, passing Blaise the letter. "We're to make a scene."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And here we are, at the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed, followed and bookmarked. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing._

**Chapter 7**

_Two days before the wedding_

In a cottage safe house by the sea, protected by a Fidelius Charm, a small group gathered for a final strategy meeting.

"Does everyone understand their roles?" the King asked. Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Harry nodded and turned to Blaise and Draco. The two newcomers and temporary recruits stared back at the team known as The Pieces, awed by everything that had happened in the past few weeks.

After Hermione and Ginny revealed the real reason for their presence in Oxfordshire, Draco and Blaise had been left in the dark as the witches plotted and continued to build their trove of information. Hermione and Ginny only told them that Riddle had indeed targeted Hermione's customer base and had forced her hand after revealing the hidden conditions of the contract.

After Hermione set a date and place, pretending to give in to the inevitable, Riddle had sent her a scandalous amount of gold and instructed her to purchase the finest wedding gown she could find, and to also buy Ginny a bridesmaid dress to honour the occasion. Draco had been extremely put out at the idea of his witch wearing a wedding dress for another wizard and objected at first, but was forced to concede after Hermione reminded him it was all part of the ruse. Ginny, on the other hand, had been delighted at, as she put it, "scoring a free gown."

Only when they were sure every other detail had been carefully finalised and contingencies planned did they bring Draco and Blaise into the operation, instructing them to publicly object to the match, then attend the ceremony and make another scene. Their job was to quietly urge people to witness the grand event to build their audience up as much as possible before things were set in motion.

"Draco? Blaise? Do you understand? This is vitally important," Hermione insisted. "You have to play your parts perfectly."

"Oh, don't worry, love. We'll make you proud," Draco stated, exchanging a look with Blaise. They had already begun. "Half of wizarding London is talking about your upcoming nuptials, thanks to my stellar performance in the Leaky Cauldron a few weeks ago."

It was true. Draco and Blaise had gone to the well-known pub, where Draco had proceeded to become spectacularly intoxicated and lament loudly about how his love had dumped him for the famous Tom Riddle. He had every patron's attention in short order and kept their interest by shouting rounds for the whole pub at regular intervals to thank them for their kind support as he shared his tale of woe.

By the end of the night, word had spread regarding the upcoming wedding and where it was to be held. Many patrons, somewhat the worse for wear, had vowed to show up in solidarity with Draco to protest the ceremony and voice their discontent.

"I doubt many of them will even remember, and even if they do, they'll probably have second thoughts about publicly challenging Riddle," Draco continued. "But the idea has been planted, and there will still be plenty of curious onlookers who won't be able to resist seeing for themselves."

"And meanwhile, I'll go around reminding people how heartbroken my best friend is," Blaise added. "Drum up a bit more public sympathy for his plight and all."

"Good." Severus looked pleased. "Potter, Weasley and I will stay here to make the final preparations. The rest of you go back to your places and do the same."

* * *

_The day of the wedding_

Tom examined his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his collar and ankle-length cloak, then nodded to himself in satisfaction. He looked perfect. Turning on his heel, he walked briskly to the opposite end of the room then spun sharply to face the mirror again, so he could watch the wide hem flare out behind him.

He called for an elf. When it appeared before him, he demanded, "Tell me, Bilky. Does my attire befit the occasion?" Tom strode back towards the mirror, spun, and returned to where the elf stood, rotating on the ball of his foot once more so that he was facing the mirror again. Bilky looked confused and unsure how to respond.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Er. Yes. Master looks very commanding," Bilky said at last.

"Of course I do," Tom replied loftily. "Have you prepared the bridal chamber as instructed?"

"Yes, master. Everything is ready," he confirmed.

"Good. You are dismissed until such time as I return with your new mistress."

Bilky bowed low and disappeared with a soft pop. Tom checked his reflection once more, then Flooed to the Ministry to meet the wizard who would perform the binding ceremony.

He stepped through the large fireplace, brushing soot from his wedding robes, and looked up to see Simmonds waiting for him. Simmonds, who had been the one to introduce Tom to Hermione in the first place - in a manner of speaking, of course. It was only fitting that the man whose mind had revealed the witch would be the one to bind her to Tom.

"Let's go, Simmonds," he ordered briskly, glancing at his pocket watch. "My bride will be waiting for me. The ceremony is due to begin in fifteen minutes."

Tom turned and made his way out of the Ministry, Simmonds trailing behind him. When they arrived at the Apparition point, Tom extended his arm. Simmonds took it and they were whisked away, appearing moments later just inside the public gardens Hermione had selected as the location.

They made their way along the path, headed to a particular gazebo his bride-to-be had specified in the middle of the gardens. There seemed to be quite a lot of people about, he noticed.

"Congratulations, Mr Riddle!" one wizard called out as he passed. Tom smiled graciously at the man and thanked him for his well wishes.

He knew about the rumours, of course. Draco had not taken the news well, and had made his displeasure and misery publicly and drunkenly known at a ratty old pub known as the Leaky Cauldron. His friend Blaise had cried injustice far and wide, telling everyone who would listen what a travesty it was that the famous Tom Riddle had stolen Draco's girlfriend away, destroying their love story.

Tom had rather enjoyed hearing all the whispers about the whole affair. Thanks to the fuss Hermione's ex-boyfriend had made, his binding to the well-regarded potioneer would make headlines, and this would come in handy when he released the potion. He'd give her some credit and say she'd helped him develop it. No need for the truth to come out.

Now they were approaching the open area where the gazebo sat, and Tom saw that there were more well-wishers scattered around. A murmur went up as he neared, glancing at the faces surrounding him. He began to suspect from the expressions on some of their faces that they weren't all there in support of him. In fact, the gathering seemed to be split into two; one side looking displeased and hostile and the other looking interested and enthusiastic.

"Witch-thief!" One person from the hostile side shouted as he passed. "Shame on you, Riddle!" cried another.

"Oh, shut it, you nonce!" came the retort from someone in the other group. "All's fair in love and war!" called a second supporter.

Tom grinned at that statement, and tipped a salute towards the speaker. "Well said, Sir!" he stated.

The supporter grinned back and waved enthusiastically. "Go get 'er, Mr Riddle!" he replied.

Tom continued on his way up the path. He could see Hermione waiting with the Weasley girl in the gazebo. She looked absolutely stunning in the dress she had chosen, the fabric hugging her curves in all the right places and the melancholy, resigned look on her delicate heart-shaped face made his heart sing with joy. He would enjoy taking her tonight, especially if she tried to resist him.

Now he was climbing the steps, nodding to the Weasley girl, holding his hand out to Hermione with a smile. Turning to glance over his shoulder, he observed Simmonds lagging behind.

"Come on now, Simmonds," he called jovially. "My bride is impatient to be bound to me."

The Ministry man hurried to join them, not meeting Tom's eyes but giving Hermione what appeared to be a sympathetic glance. _How rude._ He would punish him for that later, but right now, he had a woman and a potion to claim.

Simmonds took his place between the couple and Tom slid his hand up Hermione's forearm, firmly grasping the soft flesh. She shuddered slightly, although her face remained impassive. He gave her a warning squeeze.

Simmonds cleared his throat, looking over the crowd that had drawn in closer to the gazebo. He cast a _Sonorus_ so his voice would carry over the impromptu gathering. "Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, you are here today to witness the joining of Tom Marvolo Riddle and Hermione Jean Granger. If no one has objections, I will begin the binding in accordance with magical—"

"Wait!"

Everyone on the gazebo turned towards the sound. The crowd was parting as someone pushed their way to the front. The closest people drew apart to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy, and behind him, Blaise Zabini.

"Hermione! Please don't do this!" Draco called desperately, ignoring Tom completely as he rushed towards the gazebo.

"Draco—" Hermione faltered, taking a step towards him.

Tom frowned and stepped in front of her. She was _his,_ and by Salazar, he meant to have her.

"She's marrying _me,_ Malfoy! Give it up!" Tom called down snidely.

"I love you, Hermione! With all my heart! I'm begging you—please, _please_ reconsider! I'm on my knees, asking you to give me another chance!" Draco dropped to the ground, kneeling with his hands held up in supplication.

Tom snorted. How pathetic. The man was actually _grovelling._ It was such unbecoming behaviour, especially for a pureblood of his status. "Go _away,_ Malfoy!" He turned back to Simmonds. "Get on with it!"

But now the crowd were muttering to each other, shuffling inwards, drawing into a tighter huddle.

"Oi, Miss Granger! Give Malfoy another chance!" someone shouted. "What'd he do?"

"Why would you want to marry a berk like Riddle?" another asked.

"Riddle is a lying, scheming conman! He took advantage of poor Miss Granger!" Zabini chimed in.

"I'll do whatever it takes! I'll pay him off, you know I will!" Draco cried, and Tom started to feel a real irritation. What did _that_ mean? She better not have told him—

Hermione was shaking off his grip — he still had her by the arm — and stepping forward. "I can't, Draco, you _know_ I can't!" she cried, her distress evident in her features. "Please, I—I'm sorry! Just forget about me." She lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

"See?" Zabini pointed at Hermione, turning to directly address the crowd. "She doesn't want to do this!"

The crowd was positively humming now, sensing something was amiss. Tom didn't like it. He needed to get things under control _now._ This was not going the way he had planned.

Stepping forward, he drew his wand and pointed it at Malfoy, then the assembled, discontented gathering of people. "Get back! All of you! Do not interfere!" he shouted. "Hermione has agreed, of her own free will, to marry me, and you are all impeding a legal and binding ceremony! Cease now or I will have you all before the Wiengamot!"

"Agreed of her own free will? Bullshit, Riddle!"

Tom realised with concern that Malfoy had cast a _Sonorus_ , and his voice carried clearly through the growing crowd.

"You tricked Hermione into signing one of your cursed contracts, adding two clauses: That you could take control of the fertility potion she's been working on, and that she would have to marry you if she was unable to meet repayments!"

The crowd became louder, angrier. They were crowding in. "Lies!" Tom called out in outrage. "Damnable lies! I'll see you in the Wizengamot for slander!" He grabbed Hermione by the arm and tried to Apparate. It didn't work.

" _What in seven hells—?"_ Tom muttered.

"Apparating won't work, Riddle. We've cast Anti-Apparition spells all around the gardens."

The crowd collectively turned towards this new voice, parting like a sea to let the newcomer through. Three wizards were advancing on him. The foremost man was tall and thin, wearing black robes, with flowing black hair and a long, hooked nose. Flanking him were two more men, both younger than the first. One had messy dark brown hair and glasses; while the other was lanky with a shock of bright red hair.

Tom didn't know who the man in black or the bespectacled one were, but the redhead was clearly _another_ Weasley. Was there no end to them? His lip curled in disgust.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded of the trio in front of him. "I don't know who you are, but how dare you interrupt my nuptials!"

"Looked like you were about to interrupt them yourself by Apparating away," the redheaded man observed cheekily.

"My name is Severus Snape," said the hook-nosed man. "These are my companions, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley."

"Never heard of any of you," Tom sneered.

"Riddle, is what Mr Malfoy claims true? Did you mislead Miss Granger when she signed the contract?" Snape continued.

"Of _course_ not!" Tom scoffed. "I have a copy right here, complete with her signature. She understood and agreed to all the clauses!" He reached into his robes and pulled out the piece of parchment.

"I have a copy, too."

He turned, surprised. Hermione had finally spoken up. Was she about to defend him—? Now she was turning to the Weasley girl, who was handing her a copy of the contract. Hermione unrolled it and held it up.

Tom glanced at the contract, then frowned. Something wasn't right about it. It was—

—It was _unsigned!_ But how had she made a copy of it? _How?_

"A spell of my own invention," the man calling himself Snape drawled, as if he had read Tom's mind. "You thought no one could make a copy without detection, yes? Well, _my_ duplication spell is undetectable."

Realisation slammed into his chest, and Tom began subtly looking for a quick escape. This was about to go very badly.

"This is the original copy of the contract — the one Tom offered when he first approached me," Hermione addressed the crowd. "The extra conditions did not appear until a week and a day _after_ I signed!"

The mutterings from the assembled witnesses — yes, they were _witnesses_ , and there were too many for him to be able to threaten, bribe or _Imperio_ them into submission — were growing louder and more aggressive.

"She signed the contract, and both she and her potion are mine!" Tom shouted in a show of defiance.

"And how do you mean to brew her potion?" Snape was asking now. "Do you just happen to be a potions master?"

Tom didn't answer, but someone in the crowd did. "He's no potions master! His brewing skills are higher than average, but not nearly good enough to brew a complicated potion himself! He planned to have _me_ do it!"

The crowd parted again, and none other than Horace Slughorn stepped forward, looking scared but determined.

Tom's eyes narrowed at the traitorous man standing in front of him, and he raised his wand. " _Everte Stat—"_

" _Expelliarmus!"_

Tom turned in surprise to see Hermione with her own wand in her hand— _and_ his! The insolence—! "Give me my wand, witch," he ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

"I don't think so," she replied primly. Her eyes burned with a fire he had never seen before. Gone was the meek, cowed, innocent girl he had become accustomed to. In her place was a fierce warrior woman, a valkyrie. Her hair crackled with magic as she faced him down. Her hand was steady, and her gaze did not waver.

He lunged at her, meaning to snatch his wand back. She flicked her wand and Tom was suddenly propelled backwards, his eyes widening in surprise. _Nonverbal spellcasting?_

" _Incarcerous!"_

Suddenly, he was bound. Vainly, Tom struggled to get free. How had it all gone so _wrong?_ He didn't understand.

"You wanted to take control of Hermione's fertility potion that she's been working so hard on over the last two years, order a potions master under your control to brew it for you, then claim all the glory while charging an outrageous price for it," Malfoy accused. "And you used an obscure and long-forgotten law to try and bind her to you in marriage as a final insult!"

Tom said nothing. He simply glared at the blond man standing before him.

"In addition, you threatened and bribed Hermione's potions customers so she would experience a sudden and significant drop in income, thereby making it impossible for her to continue her repayments," the one identified as Potter added, stepping forward.

The crowd rumbled again and many were openly glaring at Tom now, their expressions accusing.

"By the way, I'm an Occlumens," Hermione added. "You only saw what I wanted you to see, and I was never in financial difficulty. I just let you _think_ I was."

"Impossible!" Tom retorted. "No one is skilled enough an Occlumens to fool me!" He felt a profound sense of disbelief. _How_ had he ended up in this position? It made no sense at all.

"You _Imperiused_ Bartemius Crouch and the members of the Magical Review Board, illegally using Polyjuice to do it." This time, it was the Weasley girl speaking.

The rumble turned to a low roar, and the crowd surged forward. Tom felt a jolt of deep alarm at the sudden movement. Quickly, Snape flicked his wand, creating a magical barrier around the gazebo, keeping the witnesses out.

"I wish to consult a lawyer!" Tom shouted. "I have the right to defend myself against these outrageous accusations in front of a proper jury, not in front of this—this _mob!"_

"Oh, you'll get your lawyer, Riddle. Fat lot of good it will do you."

Tom sighed. Was _everyone_ going to appear at this farce of an impromptu trial—? He cursed as the speaker stepped into view. Bartemus Crouch, that Merlin-be-damned bureaucrat. And lo, behind him were all eight of the board members.

"He tricked me with a contract!" a reedy voice cried. "Let me through! Let me through, please!"

A small, diminutive man in shabby clothes was squeezing his way through the crowd, bowing apologetically as he moved. Tom didn't recoginse him, but he was holding a familiar-looking piece of parchment in his hands.

"Riddle lent me money to start up a business. Everything looked normal when I signed. But quite suddenly my sales dropped and I was unable to make repayments. It was then that I discovered my business has been put up as collateral. That clause had not been on the contract when it was presented to me. I lost everything."

The man looked terribly dejected and began to sob quietly into his hands. The people nearest to him reached out to pat him on the back, murmuring comforting words Tom could not hear.

"You are accused of serious crimes, Tom Riddle," Snape stated. "There are multiple witnesses to back up these claims and we have a great deal of evidence."

"A forged contract and the word of a few commoners? You call that _evidence?"_ Tom retorted contemptuously. Things were looking quite dire indeed, but it would not do to show weakness now. That would be akin to admitting guilt, and he would _never_ do that.

"The word of respected members of the Ministry, the original contract prior to the concealment charms you placed on it, your prior victims, and memories from key witnesses," Hermione answered, stepping close to him and giving him a prod with her wand. "It'll be Azkaban for you, Riddle."

"Not bloody likely," he scoffed.

Heads in the crowd began to turn. Faint shouts could be heard, coming rapidly closer.

"Here come the Aurors," said the male Weasley, a smirk on his face. "You're nicked, mate."

Tom looked around desperately. He wriggled, trying to get free of the binding charm, but it was of no use. He concentrated hard, channeling his magic. This was much harder without his wand, but he would try anyway. He would hop backwards and dive over the rail as he cast. It was undignified, but it seemed he was out of options. There was nothing left but to blow the meddling, tricky bitch and the nearest bystanders up.

Pointing his fingers at Hermione as he began to move, he shouted, " _Bombarda Max—"_

" _Stupefy!"_ Tom felt a momentary sense of shock and dismay as the spell hit him and his world devolved into darkness.

* * *

Hermione glanced down at the prone form of Tom Riddle with disgust, then looked up at the spell caster, giving him a winning smile. "Well done, Mr Simmonds," she praised.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Simmonds replied shyly. "I just couldn't let him get away or hurt anyone else. Not after everything he's done to so many people—to me."

With a shout of, "Make way! Make _way!"_ the Aurors who had been tipped off earlier that day arrived on the scene.

"Where is he?" the lead Auror demanded.

"Right here, Auror Shacklebolt," Hermione replied, pointing at the man they had worked so hard to capture.

Severus briefly cancelled the barrier charm and the Aurors surged up the steps, grabbing the unconscious Riddle roughly and hauling him to his feet. One, a woman with bright bubblegum pink hair, pointed her wand at Riddle. " _Rennerverate."_

Riddle came to, blinking in confusion. His expression turned to defiance as he realised he was surrounded by Aurors. He focused on Shacklebolt, glaring.

"Kingsley, what is the meaning of this? Let me go at once! This is an outrage! I'll have you all charged!" he shouted.

"Give it up, Riddle," Hermione snorted. Turning to Kingsley, she asked, "Did you bring the Veritaserum?"

"I did," Kingsley replied, his deep and commanding voice carrying over the assembled crowd, who had now grown hushed as they witnessed the arrest of Tom Riddle unfold. "But I'm not sure it should be administered here."

"The people deserve to know," Hermione argued. "This man has ruined many lives, caused untold misery, and is rumoured to be responsible for the disappearances of several people over the years."

"Give him the Veritaserum!" someone shouted.

"Yes! Give it to him!" the crowd agreed, roaring their approval at this suggestion.

"Very well. But you are all going to move back!" Kingsley ordered. He strengthened the barrier around the gazebo and directed two of his team to stand before the crowd to keep a close eye on their movements.

The mass of witnesses obediently shuffled back, their eyes watchful and hungry. Kingsley nodded once in satisfaction and turned back to Riddle, reaching into his robes. Withdrawing a small bottle, he held it aloft and the crowd sighed in satisfaction.

"You'll have to give him a strong dose," Hermione advised. "He's a Legilimens and will naturally be a skilled Occlumens also."

Riddle began to struggle, clamping his lips together and turning his head away as much as he could in his still-bound state. The pink-haired Auror grabbed either side of his head and held it firmly in place, tipping it back. A third Auror reached out to pinch his nose, cutting off his air supply. Riddle held out defiantly, but in the end, he was forced to gasp in a lungful of oxygen.

Quick as a snidget, Kingsley poured several generous drops onto Riddle's tongue then re-corked the vial, stepping back and waiting for the potion to take effect. Despite his efforts to resist using his Occlumency skills and pure will, the dose was too strong and Riddle's eyes gradually glazed over, indicating he was now under the Veritaserum's influence.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," Kingsley stated. "What is your date and place of birth?"

"Thirty-first December, nineteen twenty-six, Wool's Orphanage, London, England."

"Who were your parents?"

"Merope Gaunt and Marvolo Riddle. Curse that Muggle scum," Tom spat.

"Tom Riddle, did you deceive Hermione Jean Granger into signing a contract that did not display all the conditions at the time of signing?"

"Yes."

The crowd gasped, even though they already knew this information.

"And have you used this deception before?" Kingsley continued.

"Yes."

"How many times?"

"Many."

Hermione stepped forward. "Auror Shacklebolt, ask him about the disappearances," she urged.

Kingsley nodded. "Tom Marvolo Riddle, have you been directly involved in the disappearance of any witch or wizard?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Thirteen," Riddle answered immediately.

"What happened to them?"

Riddle looked into Kingsley's eyes, a cruel smirk on his face. "I killed them."

The crowd howled their outrage and swept towards the gazebo. The Aurors on guard below the steps immediately cast repelling charms, while Kingsley ceased his interrogation to call for silence and order.

"I believe we should move the prisoner before things get out of hand," Kingsley quietly advised his team. Turning to Hermione, he added, "I need you and your companions to follow me, Miss Granger. We'll reconvene at the DMLE."

Hermione nodded, and after the Anti-Apparition spells were removed, Kingsley and the rest of the Aurors quickly Disapparated with Riddle in tow.

"I—erm—I'm off then, if you don't need me anymore," Simmonds spoke up from where he had been quietly standing in the corner.

"You should report to the DMLE also," Hermione advised. "The Aurors will want to take your statement."

Simmonds murmured his agreement and vanished into the air with a small pop.

The crowd, bereft now that the spectacle was over, milled about, wandering aimlessly and muttering to each other in small huddles as they discussed the events that had unfolded in front of them. Others hurried out of the gardens to spread the word.

Meanwhile, Severus, Harry and Ron joined Hermione and Ginny on the gazebo for a debrief. Hermione glanced over to where Draco and Blaise were standing together, looking unsure of what to do next.

"Get your arses up here!" she called with a grin.

The two wizards joined the rest. Draco looked at Hermione and grimaced. "You're still wearing your wedding dress," he pointed out.

Everyone turned to look as Hermione glanced down at herself in surprise, suddenly remembering her state.

"Hm. Well. I suppose I should get rid of it," she said with a wink.

"What—here? Now?" Draco asked in shock, reddening.

Everyone laughed except for Hermione, who blushed almost as red as Draco. " _No_ , not here and now!" she replied, her voice unusually high-pitched. Turning to Ginny, she continued, "Let's go back and get changed."

"Draco and Blaise can come with us. We'll meet you at the Ministry," Severus told the two witches, indicating the rest of the group.

"Right," Hermione and Ginny agreed.

With a sharp crack, everyone Disapparated. The lingering remnants of the crowd groaned in disappointment and finally went about their business.

* * *

When Hermione and Ginny arrived at the Ministry half an hour later, dressed in more comfortable robes, they were immediately mobbed by waiting reporters.

"Miss Granger, Miss Weasley! Will you comment on—"

"How did you catch Riddle—?"

"Tell us about the fertility potion you're working on—!"

"What about Draco Malfoy—?"

"Get back! Get back, all of you! Let them through!" Kingsley Shacklebolt's booming voice called over the clamour, causing the excited reporters to reluctantly step back. "Miss Granger and Miss Weasley will answer questions at the press conference _if_ they so choose, and not a moment before!"

He pushed through the throng and positioned himself between the two witches, placing a guiding hand on each of their elbows. "This way, ladies."

The group hurried towards the lifts and got in. Kingsley pushed a button and they were whisked away from the crowded atrium.

Once they were safely alone, Hermione turned to Kingsley. "Has he said anything else?"

The Auror shook his head. "No. He's refused to speak any further."

The lift stopped, announcing their destination, and the trio stepped out into the hallway. Kingsley led the way past several doors, turning left, right, and left again through the warren that was the DMLE floor before stopping in front of a large steel door. He set his wand tip against the surface and made a series of quick, complicated motions. The door unlocked with a soft click and they entered.

Hermione found herself in an open area with several desks. At the back of the room, there were several holding cells, and one contained Tom Riddle. The captured wizard had been pacing back and forth, but looked up at the sound of the door unlocking. When he spied Hermione, he strode the few steps to the bars, gasping them in his hands.

"You'll pay for this, you little trollop!" he shouted, "No one messes with me! I'll get out and then I'll—"

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped, flicking her wand. Riddle was suddenly rendered mute, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound issuing from his lips.

A door to one side opened and Draco stepped through. Upon seeing Hermione, he rushed over to her, capturing her in his arms and holding her tight. "Thank the Gods," he sighed.

"Draco," she laughed, trying to disentangle herself from his grip. "Anyone would think you feared for my safety."

"I _did!_ This whole thing was incredibly dangerous!"

Behind them, the door opened once more and Harry, Ron, Severus and Blaise wandered through.

"'Bout bloody time you showed up, 'Mione," Ron said around a mouthful of biscuit. "He was driving us mad, claiming you were taking too long to arrive and you must have been snatched by one of Riddle's men."

" _Have_ you seen anyone suspicious?" Severus added. "We know he has a few men loyal to him, but no one has reported any trouble."

"If they're smart, they'll have fled by now," Ginny piped up. "Word seems to have travelled fast. Every reporter in wizarding Britain is in the atrium."

"And a few from other countries," Harry replied. "Bulgaria, France and Germany have all sent delegates. It seems he had his fingers in a few pies internationally as well as here in Britain."

A knock came on the outer door, and Kingsley went to check who was on the other side. He returned a few minutes later with none other than Narcissa Malfoy in tow. She spied Hermione and beamed.

"Miss Granger, I've heard all about your exploits," she said, reaching for the younger witch's hands. "You and your friends have brought about the end of Tom Riddle's reign in a spectacular fashion. The whole of wizarding Britain is talking about you all. Draco is enamoured with you. You've created a potion that will improve the magical birth rate. I _knew_ you would be the perfect match for my son."

Hermione smiled at the older woman's stream of compliments. "Thank you, Mrs Malfoy—"

"Narcissa, please—"

"Narcissa, then. And you must call me Hermione. But—You seem to know an awful lot about my potion."

Narcissa coloured slightly. "I confess, I've seen the Ministry reports. I'm a silent donor in quite a few projects, including yours—until Riddle forced the board to cut the funding, that is."

"You always did have a propensity for quietly inserting yourself into any projects or groups of interest, Cissy."

For the first time, Narcissa glanced towards the group of men in the room, looking for the speaker. She gasped, one delicate hand flying up to her chest in surprise. " _Sev?_ Is it really you?"

"It is I," Severus replied, stepping forward with a small grin on his face. "How many years has it been?"

"Why—" the blonde witch, eyes still wide, paused to think. "At least twenty-five."

"And yet, you are still as beautiful as you were when we were teenagers," Severus said softly. "I heard about Lucius' passing. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Narcissa smiled. "I miss him still. He was good to me."

Draco and Hermione were both looking from one to the other in confusion.

"How do—?" Hermione began.

"—You know each other?" Draco finished.

"We went to school together. We were in the same year," Narcissa explained, her expression nostalgic. "Before I was betrothed to your father, Draco, Sev and I were sweethearts."

"But—does this mean you didn't love Father?" Draco frowned.

"Not at all," Narcissa reassured her son. "Our marriage was arranged, but I grew to love Lucius over time. We were together for many years, so falling in love at some point was inevitable."

"Well, as long as you loved him—" Draco paused, looking from Narcissa's soft expression to Severus, who was staring at his mother as if he was a parched man who had just emerged from a desert, and she was a goblet of cool, fresh water. "Perhaps you and Severus should spend some time together. I'm sure you have a lot of catching up to do."

"Draco," Narcissa's eyes misted over as she turned to her son, cupping his cheek. "Are you sure? It won't bother you?"

Draco reached up to clasp his mother's soft hand in his own. "You've been terribly lonely since Father passed, Mother," he said. "You deserve to be happy."

Hermione felt her heart stutter at his declaration. Two old lovers reunited and Draco was being adorably supportive of the idea of his mother reigniting an old spark. Beside her, she saw Ginny was wet-eyed as well. She reached over and grasped her friend's hand, giving it a squeeze.

"I hate to interrupt, but we should get on with taking statements and memories. Also, I need those copies of the contract," Kingsley interjected, apologetically.

"Right. Of course," Hermione agreed.

Kingsley indicated the door the men had come from with a sweep of his hand, and the small group made their way across the room.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Riddle as she crossed the threshold. He was still silenced, and puce with rage. She smirked at him and showed him her middle finger.

" _Checkmate,_ Tom," she taunted.

The door closed behind her, leaving Riddle quite alone.

* * *

**May 6, 2003**

_**Tom Riddle Sentenced** _

_Tom Riddle, the well-known businessman and wealthy descendant of the Gaunt family, has been sentenced today by the Wizengamot for his many crimes._

_Chief among those charges are obtaining by deception, fraud, extortion and intimidation, but he has also been found guilty of multiple uses of the Imperius Curse._

_Additionally, following information obtained through lengthy investigations, Riddle has been charged with the murder of nine people. Although he is accused of being responsible for more deaths, not all the bodies have been discovered, and he can only be charged for victims who have been found._

_With the multiple charges against him, and having been found guilty of nearly all counts, Tom Riddle has been sentenced to life in Azkaban._

_The Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore, said, "Tom Riddle will never again darken the doorstep of any witch or wizard. Thanks to the tireless efforts of the team known as The Pieces, and their excellent investigative skills, enough evidence has come to light to enable us to prove the many allegations made against Riddle over the years._

_Let this be a lesson to any other person thinking they can take advantage of the wizarding community and act with impunity - you are not above the law. Our skilled investigators, both private and public, will find you, and you will be caught and charged."_

_Riddle will be moved to Azkaban under heavy security detail and in secret, due to the public animosity towards him and the high likelihood he will attempt to make an escape attempt, which may pose a risk to the community…_

* * *

**May 24, 2003**

_**Riddle's Estate to be Dissolved and Reparations Made, Wizengamot Announces** _

_The victims of Tom Riddle's crimes will benefit from the dissolving of his estate, thanks in large part to a campaign from those who were responsible for bringing him down._

_In a statement to the Prophet, Hermione Granger said, "We firmly believe that Riddle's many victims deserve closure and part of that involves appropriate reparations. Since he has no family to speak of and will have no need for his accumulated wealth following his life sentence, we have convinced the Wizengamot to distribute his ill-gotten gains among those he has harmed._

_Where the direct victim is deceased, the compensations will be paid directly to their immediate family, and we hope this will ease their situations. The remaining funds left over after all reparations have been paid will be donated to charities."_

_Affected witches and wizards can apply directly to the Wizengamot, and must provide the following…_

* * *

**March 12th, 2004**

_**Hermione Granger's Groundbreaking Fertility Potion available from Monday** _

_The potion Tom Riddle tried to steal is finally ready for distribution._

_Hermione Granger, the inventor of a fertility potion the likes of which has not yet been seen in the wizarding world, is finally set to arrive in apothecaries everywhere. The brilliant potioneer and private investigator has been working on a solution to Britain's declining magical birth rate for almost three years, and her dreams have finally been realised._

_In preparation, fifty thousand units have been shipped around the country, many families having already reserved a course of the treatment._

_The Muggle-born witch developed an innovative solution — inspired by Muggle fertility aids — that has, she says, a seventy-percent chance of success. This news comes as a miracle for hundreds of wizarding families who have been struggling to conceive and carry to term. It is thought that Miss Granger's potion will not only stop the declining rate of magical births, but increase them, thereby preserving our world for generations to come._

_In addition, Miss Granger has announced that a full course of the potions will be able to be purchased for only fifteen Galleons. "I was determined not to shut families on lower incomes out of the market," she said. "Any magical person who wishes to have a child should have the right to realise that dream, regardless of their social status or how many Galleons they have in their vault."_

_Before he was arrested, the criminal Tom Riddle had attempted to force Miss Granger into a marriage contract, and also intended to steal the rights to her potion…_

* * *

**October 31st, 2004**

_**Malfoy-Zabini-Snape Wedding: The Event to end all Events** _

_The largest joint wedding in nearly two hundred years has come to a close, and those who were lucky enough to attend will all surely agree it was a once-in-a-lifetime event._

_In a surprise move, power couples Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy, Ginny Weasley and Blaise Zabini, and Narcissa Black-Malfoy and Severus Snape announced their respective engagements just weeks after Tom Riddle was arrested in a landmark case and shortly thereafter declared they would hold a large joint wedding ceremony._

_As well as inviting all the most prestigious families and respected members of the Ministry, the three couples opened their nuptials to the public, inviting all who were able to travel to Malfoy Manor to attend. A staggering fifteen hundred guests were recorded, and the celebrations lasted long into the night._

_Hermione Granger, Ginny Wesley, and Severus Snape are members of the illustrious Pieces, a skilled investigative team who were an integral part of the operation that brought down Tom Riddle and ensured his incarceration in Azkaban._

_Riddle was charged and found guilty of numerous offenses…._

* * *

_**December 24th, 2005** _

Hermione and Draco arrived at Malfoy Manor, making their way by car up the long driveway. "Hurry _up_. I badly need the loo," Hermione groaned.

"But you just went an hour ago when we stopped at that rest stop," Draco frowned.

"I'm eight months pregnant, Draco. I need the loo constantly," she griped.

Finally, they pulled into the turnaround area in front of the large entrance. Hermione unsnapped her seatbelt, jumping out of the car before it had come to a complete stop, and waddled hurriedly towards the doors. They opened at her approach, and the elf that had stepped out to welcome them was bowled over as she pushed past the small creature.

"I'm sorry!" she called over her shoulder as she dashed inside. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Narcissa enter the foyer and gave her a half wave as she made for the nearest bathroom. The sight when she opened the door was glorious — shining white porcelain called to her, a veritable throne. Hermione lifted her skirt, whipped her knickers down and sat. She let out a loud groan as the pressure on her overburdened bladder finally released.

"Relief at last," she sighed as she stood and flushed. Stopping to wash her hands, Hermione examined her reflection in the mirror. She looked very awkward, given she had to stand in profile to reach the sink, thanks to her enormously swollen stomach getting in the way. Despite the minor inconvenience, however, she loved her belly — even if she hadn't been able to see her feet for the last two months.

Exiting the bathroom, Hermione was immediately assailed by an excitable Narcissa. "Merry Christmas, Hermione," the older witch smiled, embracing her. "And Merry Christmas, darling grandchild!" she added, bending to coo to the pregnant witch's abdomen.

Just then, a commotion sprung up from the direction of the foyer. Raised voices, conversation and clattering could be heard, signalling the arrival of Ginny and Blaise.

"Let me through before I pee everywhere!"

Ginny entered, her face as red as her hair, and Hermione and Narcissa quickly stepped aside to let her enter the bathroom. After several minutes, she emerged, looking much happier. "Merlin, I can't wait for this baby to be born so I don't have to spend half my day in the loo," she sighed. "Only a few more weeks to go."

"Draco _still_ doesn't get it," Hermione complained. "Can you believe he actually said to me, as we were arriving, ' _but you just went an hour ago when we stopped at that rest stop'?"_

Ginny shook her head. "What a twat."

Narcissa blanched at Ginny's coarse language, but nodded in agreement. "No wizard will ever come close to understanding what it's like to be pregnant."

"Where have they gone? Did they fall in, or something?" Draco's voice drifted towards them from the foyer.

"They're probably talking about how awful we are," said Blaise. "You're quite lucky to have avoided having to deal with a pregnant wife, Severus."

"Indeed," Severus drawled. "It sounds like it's as much fun as peeling a room full of shrivelfigs."

The women looked at each other and laughed.

"Come, ladies. We're serving tea and sandwiches in the solarium, and the elves have been busy making all your favorite cakes and sweets."

"Brilliant, I'm starving!" Ginny exclaimed.

"Not as badly as I am," Hermione joked. "You better not eat everything, witch."

"First in, first served!"

"Really, you two," Narcissa admonished, trying and failing to look stern. "There's more than enough for everyone." Looping a hand through each of their elbows, she guided the younger witches to where their men were waiting for them.

""It's about time," Draco pouted. "We thought you'd all run away together."

" _He_ did," Blaise said, indicating the blond wizard. "Severus and I, on the other hand, can stand to be parted from our witches for more than five minutes."

"Prat," Draco sniped. "Hello, Mother." He moved forward to kiss her on the cheek.

"Draco, Blaise," Narcissa greeted them. "May I suggest we make our way to the solarium? You can each tell me about your trip." She led the way out of the foyer, Severus on her arm, the rest of the party eagerly following.

Hermione smiled to herself as she walked, one hand resting contentedly on her belly and Draco with his arm around her waist. They had triumphed, and all was well.


End file.
